Like someone who’s afraid of getting dirty,
I feared the things I thought would stain my soul
and spent my days in horror and in worry
of all the sins that kept me from my goal
of sanctity as of a saint or monk
who wouldn’t sully soul and let it spoil,
and I detested lows to which I’d sunk,
as deep as worms that burrow in the soil.
But when I planted deeply with a friend
some bulbs we hoped would blossom in the spring,
it dawned on me it’s terrible to spend
a life in constant fear of sullying:
I loved to plant and shed the insanity
of fearing a soiled soul lacks sanctity.
Deer in a Monastery Garden, Franz Marc, 1912
Mario A. Pita