LOVE GOD

The man with the backpack of green things,
walks down the path that crosses the earth.
He throws clover and grass on the track -
it grows up lush and sucks at his shoes,
as he pushes them through the grass’s spit.

He strokes the silver ripple on the wheat.
He bends inside the arch of white thorn,
as the flowers endlessly tighten their grip;
throws stars from his pack, and they stick
in the branches and make heaven for us.

He sprinkles bitter fields from his bag
some Wild Garlic or Old Man’s Beard,
burnt earth and stubble, many are fallow.
Then he’s gone, somewhere, down the road.
He’s emptied his backpack of green things.

VICTORIA PUGH