Till! I till until it seems the soil should boil with my toil.
Hoe! I hoe each row in hopes my seeds will grow!
Sow! I sow the seeds of desperate need into the earth below.
Reap! I reap until I weep from this, my grain of pain.
Thresh! With blistered flesh I thresh the pain still fresh from off the stalk.
Sell! I carry well the fruits of pain to the market of my hell.
Raze. I hurry home to set my wicked fields,
my ancient pain,
my weary heart,
In the baptism of Autumn smoke, absolution lasts until…