Working from a dairy farm to a hog farm.
It must be heaven to walk in this mud.
Many farmers have come to milk on this land.
They bring tools to set down their own gardens in this place.
Neighbors on the earth, brothers and sisters in spirit,
Motherless children yearning for Peace.
Yet more.
Here is the good.
This community.
The Peace.
Hearts in pieces from paining material;
Pieces reforged when together taken higher.
We exalt above the earth, reaching for scarlet words in the sky -
And with feet in the garden.
Come on you big strong farmers!
Till the heavenly mud upon this hillside!
Here it was created.
Here it remains.
Here is the now the Lord’s House.
In this place,
In this time.
Others yet to be uncovered -
Sanctified -
Blessed.
The weight of the revolution pulls we colorful farmers away.
He said there was no place to bed or to rest here;
But to go home and create a garden there.
These mud plots made us go,
Spending what our souls received by willing to be sacrificed.
Darkness shrugged and trudged
Bidding the new day to have its way.
And when it was done -
When the engines roared away from the farm,
The climax played secretly.
As Christ left the tomb unseen,
The pained anthem of hope rose with the new day sun.
Dissidence and dissonance rained like bombers,
Yet hovered above the alfalfa field to tend to the farm.
Where are you going with that mud in your hand?
In new dirt must I plant a new farm.
Annotations available upon request.
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