Thick like paint, days after
the canvas was filled.
Spilled like sun through grass blades
to where two children lay
sleeping in a field.
Field of stars, far below
wrap around us
like mother’s soft arms, bruised
from the heavy labor of harvest
and tending seedling’s growth.
Two children, spilled like seeds
in a field of dirt thick like paint
where God tills the earth
like a mother, hands bruised
bloody from the heavy labor
of making seedlings grow.
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