led her by both hands.
The green of the forest was under her feet,
now there is only water.
The fire ate up most of the mountains,
with a sound of seeds popping.
She used excuses by the dozen, offered
to herself and to others.
By late October, tendrils appeared
and her fears were dealt with in dreams.
Ecclesiastes called for seasons of planting,
with a time to weep and a time to laugh.
The grass had a chance once again, as
blackened earth and charred roots gave way.
The soles of her feet were too used to stones.
She came alone from the desert to the trees calling.
Her tiny seeds have sprouted
in the hands of her Lover.
"Who can tip over the water jars of the heavens
when the dust becomes hard
and the clods of earth stick together?"