you are the gardener
and I am the clay

you are the caretaker
and I am the one you love

abide in me

I have obsessed about the ending
how vast the harvest would be
but apart from you
I am a wasteland

all you care for is me—
it does not matter what
we plant in the fields

for there is no ending
no lack of life in your love

in my softening
I see your softening—
and the fruit ripens
every season

you are the gardener
and I am the clay

you are the caretaker
and I am the one you love

abide in me