Collecting Daylight 1_5_2026

Wickedjohnandthedevil

I see my footsteps in the garden
I hardly recognized the feet
The ruddy clay in Carolina
Impressions there in front of me

The stalks above collecting daylight
Conceal their mysteries down below
For who I am I too traipse your garden
If I don’t reap what you have sown?

The tiny church there on the hillside
The little graves along the ridge
The infant berries pale and sour
The creeping vines, the heritage

Come fall the harvest will surround us
Come bitter winter it will end
The tiller breaks the field in springtime
And what was once is new again