Trust

These leaves,
this grain,
these ties -
knowing
Elohim knows
the best way home;

Trust vining
through years

And then the spring sky
resting on trees,

and a finished thing inscribed,

moments gathered decades
near basement doors,

and winter's dropped knives
found.

My cold hands
have been a name for you
as long as I've been full of sin.

I've been my own way through,

And I
remember well

trusting,

the way slate
Connecticut tombstones
trust the earth,
near the sea.