Planting in September
by David Radavich
It feels like a late beginning.
Not for me; for the world.
Digging down toward the center,
pulling out brown, lifting in green
then tamping like a lover
settling his partner to sleep.
Enough water to welcome
the wizards then
let everything live, live.
Simple enough if you don’t
understand politics.
Green things certainly know
power and loss, survival, keeping
a head up against the wind.
These bent knees do their form
of praying to the gods of growth
then head inside to wash away grime.
Soon I’ll survey my odd domain
like a tsar or parent, scolder
of rabbits and squirrels,
a small strain of plant DNA
remaining in my heart and hands.