where the answer is no longer a question

in the evenings when slowness grows in the cracks
under the table,we drop crumbs for what
will, load wood down
with our worries, we lick the backs of spoons where
sweet potatoes once sat, how is it going?
is it good?
is it good?

creak, around, back there is a loose hinge
on that chair be careful ;
creak, around, back there is a sorrow
howling under a laugh,

four places where apples
waited, plucked there is a pie: one
tree at a time i will say to you,
your hands in mine, whether they are smooth or
rough like woodsy bark, deep smell oak,
the fragile white saplings who know
to grow,

(we are seedlings learning; uprooting does
not always lead lonely lives, branches
bow low)

I hope you are ;
brave
with all the i hope fluttering
fragile bursts of a seed
breaking breathe (it is not easy it) is
best

you are welcome any day to leave
your worries at the door, sit at the table,
where the answer is no longer a question,
but a yes.