The hole I dug in you I still mean to fill with love, if love can replace what’s robbed. If grubbed earth can be broadcast with enough pips to tree the field. I will open my hands to this work if I can, the cavity I am to the maggots I've sown. Hollow logs I’ve heard invite a hive. This is how you taught me seasons move. In reparation. Without asking. Without complaint. Without knowing if forgiveness will come, the only way it will.