Resistance
Ground ages me like a tree.
My forearm strains at a root.
Perhaps in fine soil, I push
my trowel too hard, too long.
As gardener, I pretend at best
that leaves, blossoms and fruit
fulfill my role in nature; that I
am Master here without end.
Not only false, but a stupid idea
and
vain in the act of dust to dust.
Gardener -- Tomb of Royal Sculptor Ipuy, Deir al-Medina
