Roger Singer

A hard breath parts the dust
on her working hands
as she repairs the soil for seeds
in the season ripe to plant,
in rows where hope is
watered and faith realized,
in the life garden,
the section she owns,
moving and rising
the mounds waiting
for vines and plants
under the tides
of her words
at dawn
when she pushes back
the slumber
and walks the aisles
speaking, reassuring
of rains coming
and suns blessing
and harvest baskets full
in the season
between seasons.