there does not always need to
be something seen to grow.
i will not haul water
or clear brush from the furrows.
i will not dry fruit on wooden trays.
there will be no green leaves flourishing
reaching up towards the light.
i like to walk in fallow fields
where absence in sown
and emptiness reaped.
it is good to stand
in these night lands.
i lean down and
touch the earth.
i strain soft ashes
through my fingers.
peace is my harvest.
i wander through myself
nice