there will be little flowers here

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we hit the clay
and he judged that it was enough
i rested my blisters
unused to man's work my hands
soft in the mild days that
seemed to stretch forever

i would like to bury a scream
a cry, a word
we commit nothing to the earth
even the familiar weight of care
is kept close
unyielded, we keep it very close

they say there are little earthquakes
rumors in the dirt
too soft to be felt
but if you keep still
and hold your breath just above the grass
you can let yourself tremble
and be moved


1997? - June 23, 2008

(an old song)