The Stone-Breaker’s Walk

A gray wind, sticky and sweet
With the murmur of humus
And beating feet
I know He is here.

Heavy and light altogether,
His sighs like the drafty cave
Or clay heather
I know He is here.

His passing draws out the tarry must
Of pavement, as wine
From grapes of dust
I know He is here.

Is He all axe? Or open veins?
We will see when
Come the rains!
I know He is here!

Breathe to Him the black of smoke
And present to Him your
Ploughman’s yoke
I know He is here.

Swinging, dragging, sparking, breaking,
His axe-arm sends the
Mountain quaking
I know He is here.

He who coaxes the grain from bone
He who can squeeze
Blood from stone
I know He is here.

Soil turns from brown to black
That which we feed now
Feeds us back
I know He is here.

Stand outside and gaze in wonder
Upon his gifts of green
And thunder!
And know He is here!

At last He moves and with a sigh
That gray wind passes
Across the sky

To shadow other lands today
To maybe kiss
Or maybe slay

We pray He walks this way again
For to honest folk
He is a friend.
And I know He was here.

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