Sow not among thorns.
(Jeremiah 4:3)

Gail, the hyssop grows in the rock,
the winter rains pass,
the psalmist sings the praise
of ostrich, stork, and pelican.
Through the filtered glass
you noticed no intruder.
But the foxes, Gail,
the foxes trample the vineyard.
Catch them, quick, the vineyard
won't flower. I remember
that spring how the sky
tore apart, the thick clouds
washed down, and later
the blood-red anemone
bloomed, and wild birds
you photographed on the shore
that day flew startled,
clutching green twigs
in their beaks. They
migrate here to seek
a quiet nesting place.
We are compelled
to sow among the thorns.