Poem From A Friend

This Garden
      Cindy Smith

you cannot know
what you have planted
buttercup, bramble, or choking thorn
they are all here before you
in their most secret form,     root threads
or seeds closed like fists in the sun

and you must pick, and plant
unknowing,  and never knowing
if the mud in your hands
will bring you any living thing let alone
what you want  what you want     water  is

everywhere it is flowing
through your veins it is rolling
in the delicate limbs of the plants
remember to water
life is so thirsty some days it needs
more than you can carry

it all takes faith,
that mute and stubborn stranger
who always waits for what has not happened
and time while the sun etches lines in your face
and luck, who only taps some shoulders
some times
and may never tap yours.