Ohio Garden Season Matrix

In this season, this month,
the root of my life has grown
in the earth, a pleasure to behold--
once again, facing spring I cling
to dirt like a new vegetable
waiting to be nourished.

The simple mask of God hasn't appeared.
Blind to the sun, I sit
in the garden waiting to be plucked,
believing in rescue, believing in green hope.
Reassured by warm light on my face

spring is right in planting in my brain
a crazy seed that blooms like a blue
morning glory. I continue to call your name--
Darrell Dillon, lost to the flames of some unknown,
your curtain call caught us all off guard.

Now in this chasm of love, I believe
we were kids when we last spoke.
Now the common crab-grass fades,
the journey Westward has ended

and the one God who rests
in the clouds can speak your name.