“every ecology depends on death”cotyledons green to their taskof rising into trees, unruffled by captionsin a town in India a driver racesa bus-load of children through a gauntletof gunmen’s fire and seizes lifethe heart can be a chalicemoss-velvet as the anther-dpyramid of an eight-petal-d lotusor a bloodletting shardhewn off the planet with a saberroar-voiced and petrifying;it may take a long while to sand andshore a spindrift, for thirsting terrainto calypso with orchard wineprimeval is hope, oiled to a talent of stonelike this rain-sewn cloud charmingthe old bakul by the well into bloomso, we heft the spade, primitivelytill and garnerre-stoke the ailing stove.