Tithing
Kicking down through the meadow
The birds flutter up golden
As if they were coins
And the earth the hand
Of a man about to enter
A dark wood
He was told at the tavern
He must pass through
If he wishes to be whole again
Who reaches into his pockets
As he was told he must
And pulls out all the coins
The beer broke his last dollar into
Then tosses them up
Flashing in the late sun
So the gods will know
As they fall at his feet
Here is one
Who comes in earnest