A Poem for Spring by Gabrielle Worley

When I walk
I can feel that we are too heavy
Quietly, the earth bends her back
Beneath the weight of things
Too weary to watch
As men cast their fishing lines into sky
Shove stars into pockets
Steal and sell
What is left of her

 Men have captured waters

And winds

Drawn lines across forests and mountains and deserts

War is so simple
And so loud

Listen
The ground is trying to breathe again

 Overhead, birds flap into formation

And the monarch is on its way home

A fluttering mass of delicate orange wings

 The frozen lake moans and opens itself up

fields forgive the fire

and the heavy snow
and the farmer

This is where God’s order may be seen
not in highways and laws and currency
but in the things we haven’t touched

In our willingness to collapse
So that the body may be rebuilt
with something stronger

 There is nothing wrong with breaking

With turning up palms to find

that your hands are empty

This is where the wildflowers grow

Where we can hear the wind coming
before we can feel it
and we begin to see God
everywhere