God is here in this rock wall,
in the mind that planned it, in the hands that made it,
in the earth that holds it, in the rain that will wash it,
in the snow that will gather on it, and the sun that dries it.
Though she is gone, Marje’s morning glories
spend every summer with me through the miracle of seeds.
And as we did, when they come, I will count the blooms.