Creation crunches beneath my toes
cool and ripe and grainy mash of
nuts, scat, feathers, and pinecones
sifting curiosity from what I know
in the soft breath of the wind.

These sermons in the soil,
exhortations of clay and worms,
recipes of grace from the muddy
hands of the winter sun suddenly preaching:

Gather your heart
           with the crumbs
                       from breakfast
                               Gather your soul
                       with the secrets
            of sparrows

Gather your mind
           with the stems
                       of roses
                                   Come clean in
                       the whispers
            of snowfall.