A blessing on the man who puts his trust in the Lord, with the Lord for his hope. He is like a tree by the waterside that thrusts its roots to the stream: when the heat comes it feels no alarm, its foliage stays green; it has no worries in a year of drought, and never ceases to bear fruit.
O Lord, the vast summer
In my hands now:
Halving the sunned world there.
Seeds spill into
the tills of loss
Where the restless roots begin
Composing their poetry
Before the dark-blank audience
Until the steepening light of Spring
In every leaf and blossom's voice,
Filling the voluminous verses of shadow
Beneath Your light
And every stage of ripening.