A sower went out to sow…
Sower God, what hard-worn paths of habit,
what packed-down roads drivennness
have I trod out across my life,
ruts that do not receive your seed?
What birds of desire
snatch up your seed
before it roots in me?
What shallow, rocky soil lies in my heart,
what refusal to open my depths and surrender?
What thorns of bitterness choke your grace?
Let them wither, all of them.
And where is your lovely soil in me—
humble, human hummus—
thick with holy rot and death,
rich with all that has failed and fallen,
crawling with the secret worms of grace
that give life in the dark earth of me?
Find those places,
fall upon me,
―July 12, 2017