The sun sets to the toil of the day
So I walk the labyrinth
of this freshly furrowed clay.
Each ridge and valley
…quiet in its readiness
……plowed and dark
……alive and resting.
So straight
and narrow the corridor
that lays open to this breeze
ready for the seed.
I cross the ribbons of this field
that were neatly laid in prayer.
I cross in twilight
this prayer
…that’s written in the earth.