The Garden

If I am Earth
 at this moment, I am spinning in the proper direction
soft moist black soil ready for seed
 touched by a planter with soft strong hands
pulled apart to make room
surely I can hold the weight of this man.

Today we lived

burning sun tucked behind skinny branches
swelling black asphalt pulls  into the giving ground
breezes smooth over lips
baby fingers on mother lips, on mothers breast
for this the grass lays and gives way
at the weight of natures most delicate force

flowers sense the moon pulling close
shiver as they creep backwards into green

songs of insect wings pile chirps of birds
low hum of things going into quite
sweet call of trees collecting air

 Evening is sliding into open windows
flesh moves slow and curious underneath glass
alive.