There are pickers in the field today
No one with a five-string guitar

but pickers on a holy quest with black
buckets and borrowed clippers

Carrying memories of their grandmother’s
garden, or the garden they wished she had.

Kneeling among the zinnias, yarrow,
and bee balm

Stretching across the blooming aisles
of peach, and pink, and yellow blooms

Worshipping among flowers
demands nothing in return 

no Hail Mary’s prayed on beads
of rosewood, silver, or glass

Just an Honesty Box —
all in good faith

Praise comes in the hummingbirds
flight, the bees serenade,

the lightening bugs taste for sweet
nectar –  a Communion of small things.