Friday, June 28, 2013

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,
Of course
She isn*t.

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