Growth has lifted the county that buried sunflower seeds
deep into the flesh of every body, buried, sprouting seeds
uncurling green as a smile, and if you do that with enough
bodies, the ground will begin to part in plaits, seeds
expanding into blossoms, petaled heads pointing up
towards a light, until even that light is propagating, it seeds
out over the town, over the small church with its graying
painted windows, an image from Matthew of the sower and his seeds
upon the rocks, and wasn’t this such a barren ground before
we started planting deep within gunshot wounds, death now seedy
yellow heads pointed always towards God. We will force this God
into the least of these, the ones who wouldn’t grow without seed
on a finger poked into the muscle, just so, placed so shallow, the body
disappears—
