‘try writing something nice for once’

It’s easy to focus on the storm,
and hard to focus on the soil –
Dirt? Just dirt?
flecks and specks, a place to toil
all hard clays and loam,
a place to sweat upon
and feel the rain, and fear
the thunder.

It’s easy to focus on the storm,
and hard to focus on the soil;
harder, still, to imagine the seeds
of promised flowers,
green and brown and white,
glazed with seeping moisture,
and the tiny sprout
surging upwards,
reaching towards the sunlight,
spurred by a passing storm.