and as they splattered to earth in tents and hovels
beneath adobe, brick, and bare wood,
the Lord must have chuckled at the joke He was cooking for this futile land

   for
they pounced on it like cats and turned its
innards to the sun, baking a gourmet country
   a feast of living

these extended spirits crept about, tugging
their plows and water along   scuffing and
rubbing the soil until it shown with
ruddy health   until its cracked face could
accommodate the vibrant, reaching populace

by now they've bundled the forests into cordwood, planted and bundled again   they've
shaped the valleys into water   the mountains into homes

they've smoothed His joke into an easy smile