Deborah Guzzi

See the gardener’s open hand bring seed to soil,
into the creases beginnings, love, and endings fill.
Each of us bloom in the doing of this most holy toil,
see the gardener’s open hand.

On dark days when shadows bring tearful regret,
let shades of green jade and emerald play foil,
show the hues of blue, in morning glory and violets,
see the gardener’s open hand.

Hear the subtle song of the wood-bee working, coil
about your senses as, each to each, some pollen gets?
Man: the breeze, the sun, the seed, the rain, life roils,
see the gardener’s open hand.