Sowing

It is the sink of the afternoon

the children asleep or weary.

I have finished planting the tomatoes

in this brief sun after four days of rain

now there is brown earth under my fingernails

And sun full on my skin

with my head thick as honey

the tips of my fingers are stinging

from the rich earth

but more so from the lack of your body

I have been to this place before

where blood seething commanded

my fingers fresh from the earth

dream of plowing a furrow

whose name should be you.