No predicting

Digging expectations into the soil with the mushroom compost, planting what I can, waiting for the rest.

Sometimes God

Is very quiet.

He waits to speak

She waits to speak

For a very long time.

He waits

She waits

It seems

Until I stop begging

For a word of clarification;

Until I dig all expectation

Into the soil

With the mushroom compost.

Watch the dirt

To see what grows:

Perhaps a seed I have planted

Or a wayward volunteer vine

From the pumpkin

We fed to the squirrels

Last fall.

Sometimes even then

God is mum:

Until,of course

He isn*t,

Until,

Of course

She isn*t.