1.
Like hay to cows,
we bank good fortune
in the ground
building fences
and pipe corrals
as if always
there will be cattle
grazing grass above
our scattered ashes.
2.
Our gods and fickle
goddesses rest among
generations,
and we with them—
have no legions
to wage wars,
and promise not
to new converts
what they already have.
3.
We are the dirt
we’re rooted in,
look to the skies
for any kind of rain
and granite cracks
of snowmelt leaking
to stay alive—
to give good fortune
back to this ground.