Shriveling corn in August fields
Haunts with bleak precedent
My hope; and even tiny blight
On the premise of a grain
Assumes a goal’s defect.
Is this a sorrow made of seeing?
Made of faith, imposing on recurrence
The promise of my scheme?
Are not sight and faith in promise
Grown within this common ground?
If viruses and I are one,
What makes our contradiction?
Does a blemish travel in the seed?
And should I pray to science’s revisions.
Believing God is not immaculate?
August wanes and hesitation
Seeps through bending stalks
Into my sure inclusion;
And all my host of chemicals
Rage interpretation.