POEM

~Dedicated to the Farms of Amador and the D’augustini Family ~ 

farms are perfect on just right days, spilling over with fecund grace in every juicy morsel of vegetable, each switch of cat tail, the way the chickens may roam into roosts in the fig tree, figs carpeting the land with fallen sugars of life! 

the sun knows chlorophyll like nobody’s business, and the 

skies are ready to move rain like shaves of wheat into this 

wagon of the earth on pitched forks of lightening...

I bury my face in the basil, eyes wide-open, when no one is around, praying the smell of herbalaciousness I love so well, 

will cure me of every ill I’ve ever had or suspect to have...

I have been known to eat the sweets of tiny tomatoes like 

a bold kid near a discreet dish of candy: now you see ‘em, now, you don’t, of course! sneaky as a four year old, I am so harboring tell-tale purples of grapes on my greedy lips! 

looking like a harmless old woman, I stroke the cat’s back with my old wooden cane, gently. he knows all about being a familiar, when a whitewitch is upon the land....

the olives rustle...peppers still shimmer on their plantings...

onions are drying their drops of allium upon the stone...

everywhere, crystals and plainstone are blessing the winds, and the winds are blessing the prayer flags. kale is being studied. kale studies us, right back. no sacred grove is fooled: each knows more than we ever have known, or will.

give me a farm with row after row and I’ll show you dying. 

give me a farm with the polyandry of nature’s willfulness, 

and I’ll show you life everlasting, rotating on a mandala of 

spinning suns and glorious storms and smells of death becoming life over and over in rhythms of singing....

abbondanza. the wreath of chamomile blossoms is bringing

healthy joy beyond belief, innocently, on purpose. 

gather while you may. harvest is coming in on its moons...

we are breathing freely, because of these green men and women, who, like elves, or wisdoms, or mischiefs, or the turning of seasons, are among us, grinning gently, turning the land here, husbanding and wifing and childing busily, all the land here, there, teaching us, patient as seed quietness breaking soil:

all we really need to ever learn....