Julie L. Moore

Soap foams like spume on waves
         sloshing toward shore. And the water
is warm as I wipe each dish and fork...

The farmer has shown up with the sun,
the two conspiring to work the land together.

It’s May. Time for blades to dig in....

Silence like early morning, like indigo
Deepening at the bottom of the sea.
For hundreds of years.

No voice to say this is the way....

For we are fallen like the trees . . .
                Wendell Berry

Still teeming with green...

First there was the twitch
          of the olive leaf lipping its stem,...