Lenten Orchard

Be the rain again.

Be the forgiveness of sunlight.

Be the good flowers speaking

words of struggle,

words of survival,

words about unexpected life

that are hard to swallow

in the after-thaw of late winter’s

buried silence when earth’s body

is still oozing, crusting, scabbing

while trying to remember

what it means to disturb

the nothingness of death

with something beginning

to carry fire through

covered roots, wild again,

and of course, bent toward

shivering petals of resurrection

that tilt the world, ever slightly,

back toward mercy.

Every tree knows 

this is the long season

of underground water 

and crumbling darkness.