whispering_prayers_in_portuguese fyn gula he holds the shovel in his brown hands, wooden handle split and cracked from neglect. forged steel cuts the compacted soil like an oneida knife through german chocolate bought in france. he turns it over, making a place, a home for new life. in the breast pocket of his leather-buttoned leaf raking coat is a packet of seeds. a worn paper envelope like questions for this curious earth. he presses them into the softness of possibility, whispering prayers in portuguese, blue eyes lifted to heaven. 020627 what's it to you? who go blather from