I promised the wheat seed. I said: Wheat seed,
I know you don’t know me well. But I’m here
to help you be wheat. But if you don’t believe me and
don’t break open and let everything
inside you spring open
you’ll die. Thistle and weeds will take over
your home and in the end, flames
will not notice you, hiding withered alone.
Little wheat seed, believe me. And when the rain comes,
drink, drink and trust—and if it stops,
remember my word: Yes you’ll drink again.
Wait for me. Keep springing up.