A little Lenten story

First in the north, 
between fruit trees and shade, 
it seemed it should be more difficult 
than this to die, 
except for the envy 
of avocadoes and apricots, 
hoarding the hidden streams 
of mercy for themselves;

It made more sense
in the south, where sand slips
beneath the feet, dry
as a memory carved into crumbling 
rock, worn away by storms 
long forgotten by the sky.

In between – 
because when will I learn – 
somewhere on the roadside, 
rescued by the kindness of strangers 
who made their children share 
with the foreign fool 
something of their life.