Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
         it remains just a single grain;
         but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
                   —John 12.24

You have tilled the soil of my grave, Beloved.
Scatter me. Let me slip through your fingers.
Drop me. Let me fall
into the earth of you, disappear into you,
great, fertile Source,
womb-globe, garden tomb,
holy darkness.

Let the little me-ness of me die
for love of you.
My husk will fail,
a broken heart;
what is within,
given, urged, born
by your unseeable mystery,
will emerge,
fragile, green, tender, muscular—

But first
let me fall
into you
and die
in you,
Soil of love.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

March 15, 2021

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