Show me the earth, I said
he smiled and cupped his hands
like a maltster might
or a coffee merchant
to show me the soil
which richly crumbled
between his fingers.
I could tell
by the ingrained dirt
that here was a man
hewn of the earth
a son of toil, and so
twenty sacks, a ton of soil
sifted by his hand
we hefted
into the pickup.
the earth moved –
lofted to my city roof garden
the planting done, sitting here
high on that earthy smell,
heaven’s scent
for an earthly paradise
I watch the thyme and tarragon
grow and grow.
