so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty.
Moonlight stitches patchwork
through the deer fence onto her
snow-blanket vegetable garden.
Rain is turning to snow;
heavy clouds promise a morning of
good snow-shoeing. Three snuggle
close as she reads of a long-ago family
surviving a cold winter in a sod hut.
They kneel and say prayers, thankful
for warm beds, kiss her good-night.
Two little feet patter down stairs
with one more message. Hugging
her neck he whispers, It’s like
there’s a big blizzard, we’re lost in it,
and then God finds us,
and brings us home. The seed
catalogue slips to the floor.
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