from the crumbling dirt. Red root heart,
begin the day above ground this time.
The daughter testing boundaries of voice
and bark and howl and leaving pen marks
upon the world pushing against her and the world
she wishes to push as she walks here.
If a daughter changes herself, the whole world
will change. Like this: Her tiny foot stomps
the ground she will stand, brave and delicate.
The shy and rising swans taken up
before the green unfurl and flower. Release
the ravaged voice you heard when you were ugly.
The white dazzled water speaks the angels'
presence in Hildegard's wet branches. Her songs
levitating on the edge of breathing and black out.
The fertile sheet music and the tendril of voices.
The gift of him arriving from so far across the field
southeast of the farmhouse, a thousand miles,
while I dug the soil down with prayers he would
see the garden and see my heart there, too.
He did hear and walked in carrying Provisions and Grace,
and I am restored in the love he shares so freely.
How it is we heard and how it is we answered:
The three A.M. birds name the day.
The heart's clay cracks to greet this Yes.