Shreds Part 3: Vineyards (Vespers)

I have planted orchards in your absence daily I tend to their trees. Your vineyards stretch beyond the valley and I am in them with shears. A hundred mules and hands a hundred tons of shit a hundred shovels and wheelbarrows a hundred mornings spent at the plow. I’ve grown fruit for you. Come and reap.

We all waiting, all hummed, cultivating our moonlight in jars. We’ve had harvests; “Does she come?” we ask anxiously, when the crop’s hauled in and chopped.

“She comes along.” so figs are dried, dates preserved, wine pressed in the winepresses. And we go out planting, singing hymns.

In evenings we bathe in bluegreen ponds laughing, shedding the dirt from our creases, soothing callouses in cool water. Drying in sun, in shade, in tall grass, drunk with light. Come and wash. “Does her step quicken?” we breathe

and sigh in a crisp autumn gloom.

Soldiers come burning, come thieving, and many fields are lost. We replant. We’re solemn. We’ll await another season. These things we do for god.