Hidden in the earth
a seed waits, drinking darkness.
Conceived on a summer day
when the sun suckled the earth,
fruit of wanton flowers frolicking
with passionate, hungry bees,
a seed in the womb of winter
might feel lost and forgotten.
the earth is not a grave;
it is your swaddling clothes.
Trust in the darkness,
trust in your quiescent potential
that holds all in its nothingness.
Spring will come,
and the light of lengthening days
will coax the glory of God
from the seedpod
and beckon you to itself.