Implement

I lean across the field’s best places,
rock-strewn, weedy,
ready for the plow.

I hoe down the rows with my fingers,
turning loam over,
wishing for shade.

My watering can is empty and I need a gentle rain,
something to irrigate me,
make me worthy.

I know, in the soles
of my mud-crusted boots
that God loves a farmer.