“every ecology depends on death”
cotyledons green to their task
of rising into trees, unruffled by captions
in a town in India a driver races
a bus-load of children through a gauntlet
of gunmen’s fire and seizes life
the heart can be a chalice
moss-velvet as the anther-d
pyramid of an eight-petal-d lotus
or a bloodletting shard
hewn off the planet with a saber
roar-voiced and petrifying;
it may take a long while to sand and
shore a spindrift, for thirsting terrain
to calypso with orchard wine
primeval is hope, oiled to a talent of stone
like this rain-sewn cloud charming
the old bakul by the well into bloom
so, we heft the spade, primitively
till and garner
re-stoke the ailing stove.
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