Divine Gardeners
In the fertile bed of anguish
angels drop new seeds
and I see now that water for these strange blossoms
is made of tears
and the passing of a drought
quenched only by cataclysm
and the blood of false idols
Grateful I am
to be found by such divine gardeners
by whose touch I am made worthy
of dreams long hidden in the dust
and whose whispers
guide me through this bony darkness
toward the damp dirt of my soul
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