The Gardener

Futility is a gardener.
Burying handfuls
of seeds in shallow graves.
Stillborn plants stomped
by grass and milkweed

His shoulders slump
from being party
to constant death
by hoe, axe, shovel.
Head forever pointed down
Waiting.
For anything.
New.

And when,
on occasion,
the seedling kicks
a heel
through it's earthy tomb
and tilts upward toward sun
he knows
exactly
what God
feels like.