Holy Saturday

unless a kernel of wheat
grain of rice
coriander seed, dried bean, long tree pod—
seed of any kind, really,
falls to the ground and dies,
it can bear no fruit.
and
he spoke these words to tell them how he would die
the dark pocket of earth,
the way he would go down and down
curled in around a still heart
and this only after all that pain
the unnatural ways our bodies can be broken
and
leave her alone, she has done a beautiful thing to me
she readied the seed for its burial
deep into the ground
and what you sow is not the body that is to be, but a bare
kernel
not leaves unfurling, or a shot of blue in the grass, not a tree nearly as wide as a village
a tiny shriveled thing really, this seed
compared to what it will become
she has done a beautiful thing
readying the seed for the ground
it looks dead for some
time
sown in weakness
it feels like we too, are in the ground
waiting in the dark earth
unless a kernel of wheat falls
it looks dead for a long time
she has done a beautiful thing to me
this has been a hard and unforeseen fall
i tell you a mystery
the mortal must put on immortality
he waited there, in the earth
low in the deep place
far down in the place between the falling
and the fruit.