In the Garden
My hands covered in dirt till the soil, reaching
growing downward like roots. You question the foundations
of my faith – that which I have built myself upon
as I plant carrots and beets. I smile upward as the sun
strokes my hair and back. Its warmth comforts and envelops
my little leaves spiraling out from my stem. Your raincloud,
refreshing, quenches my thirst and feeds my willowy limbs.
Only as the sun reappears do you find me in bloom.