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Productivity (for Bill) This is a fertile land black dirt crumbles in wise fingers stand barefoot very still and feel the roots dancing If you want to make a tower Eden puts her hands behind her back no stones in this soil an abundance of busy earthworms and aerated earth winks and purses her lips – don’t you want to plant a seed? If you insist on your tower she bruises and will not help you Dig down deep black fingernails and lifelines no need for shovels But you won’t poke in a fingertip drop in a hungry seed you strip your shirt clutch handfuls of fertility throw them over your reddening shoulders The pit grows You pack the dirt squeeze out the living air hard measured thumps of a great male fist The land does not cooperate rain and nightfall and the little worms and windborne thistledown that tries to root You strip the dandelions press them into walls build your earthworks to your knees Dear heart, don’t you know this land was made for loving not for locking up |
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