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Inner
plow whole
by
Noah Kauffman
Heart-soil
being tilled under.
Rows
of expectations that didn't even sprout.
I
planted for a harvest right before a drought
- tuning out the weatherman's talk of dry to come.
I
am not shielded from reality just because I love God.
Who
am I that I would have rain when nobody else does?
The
seeds baked and died in the parched land.
And
now I till the soil and set hope against my fear of a
never realized harvest - that God will grow his seeds
when there is rain.
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