Farmer

a Kansas farmer—

on his weather-beaten face

furrows fill with tears

Bushels

bushels of plums—

the joy of abundance

from her orchard

at an old friend’s house

the joy of leftover soup

as we share supper

what the foxes know

in their fur and fangs and bones—

feral purity

the children of God

planting seeds of peace, not war—

a fruitful garden

thunderclap

just before the frog

jumps in

a hole in my coat—

through the eye of a needle

threading spider silk