if we grow
out of the body
the heart pushes
all we do
  and think
  until the body
no longer
trying to believe
  allows us
  all shapes
we might see

convenient, the automatic
arrangements that leave us
detached from the consequential
details of the Other
which is who
we both are

when another leaves
the best intentions
  to fulfill
the daily arc shifts
  unpredictably reversed
where home began

you are my embodiment -
    all diversity

a poet wrote of God

speaking of us all
    as one
in the eyes of One
    who is all

yet our eyes fix like telescopes
on some enlargement of our selves

    in the field
bound by our time
    wandering freely
the weeds and the leaves
flower heads and bees
with all the atmospheres
above inviting simply:
    open and breathe

dad grew from the Dust Bowl
    Kansas farms, dead
soil from pushing too hard
leaving weeds to eat from ditches
    government lard stocks
and always promises

he tells me, you reap
    what you sow

as humble dads might
in that quiet way wisdom
proves it is lived