The dirt, brittle cracks exposed,
hidden beneath flowers in rows, and rows, and rows-

begs for the darkness that hides the sun’s rising,
the labor gestating beyond the horizon.

Let the torrent wash over those wounds,
like sand over the dessert dunes;

let it fill the countless spaces between-
make them whole, placid, serene.

Rationalize the absurd landscapes
with a throng of rivers, ponds, and lakes;

though the myriad of cracks remain,
the water gives the earth an even plain-

stable enough for all the life we know
to drink deep and grow, and grow, and grow.