Fourth Fruits by Jacalyn den Haan

Mid-July:

the fourth fruits of the sky

drip down towards earth

a filmy gloss greening the surface

of what we know.

All around

dust falls quiet.

Leaves curl together in prayer

waiting.

Above, the gray sky

fills its lungs.

Mid-afternoon:

between field and gravel path

soft mist whispers 

to wilting and skeptical soil

of resurrection.

Hope sneaks in like fog

and new life

a possibility the dogwood

threw away months ago

moves, again 

overtop of the land.

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