seedlings, carrots and cosmos,
the tiniest cone-shaped radishes,
light warming my back,
knees touching soil,
hands moving in prayer, each
hairlike seedling, each one knowing
what it will become,
a leap into what it's meant to be –
that leap in me
to surrender, wanting
nothing
a little gap,
the garden pulling in light,
cricket chirping inside scarecrow's sleeve,
the outline of each dirty fingernail
the shape of a tiny pocket.
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