It took a backhoe to dig below the frostline,
into the clay above the bedrock, for us
to gather on the green welt cleared of snow,
for us, in our hemps and wools to lay
a body down, to return what was
never ours to own—
Our father—
into the clay above the bedrock, for us
to gather on the green welt cleared of snow,
for us, in our hemps and wools to lay
a body down, to return what was
never ours to own—
Our father—
As to the godless, faith briefly.
As to the faithful, black doubt.
Image: Marek Studzinski on Unsplash
Published: The Pierian 1.4, March 2023
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
Beautiful.
Thank you very much!