Believe me a thistle will do
away with their hunger
for lush branches
and tacky color

Not the abstracted greens
of surrender oh daughter
of our family follow the flower
that evades capture fades
into pixel pricks the prying
eyes of unmanned hunters

I wished him
throughout my life

Oh daughter focus
learn the work song
of smaller creatures
this forest of branches
      is your inheritance
can you name
     every twig
will you touch
     every leaf
with bare hands
let your hair dance
as you blend into shrub
     and rock
dry is the land
that holds you

Can you hear the familiar pitch
of olive harvest the old tune
of older farmers gathered
for processions yet to come
a voice of closeness
to the earth

The hand that claps is the hand
that kneads is the hand that dances
repeated gestures on and off the tongue
red aprons golden bracelets
we are quick to break
into song

Half an egg in a pool of oil
the sun faces up our dough
will be moist the horizon hesitates
won’t admit to rough angles with
the color purple to slanted sunsets
beyond forbidden shores did you
capture the thistle twice

I wished him
from the branch of a tree

The song breaks

A landscape returns