Searching for Figs

I have thrown down this spade
and with hands still covered in dirt, circled.
I know these limbs,
the little knobs and crooked angles,
have rested in the empty branches
and let the broken grooves catch my hair.

But for all of my time spent toiling,
pouring forth and tending,
sitting. gazing.
It is You who speak the word of life.

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