What has happened to the soil, we ask,
that leather boots are melting; that wood
palings look passed through mouths toothed
with blades. And what has happened to passages
inland that used to shelter instead of shatter,
hillsides where we buried our dead, entrusting
them to the good, slow patience of years?
I cannot blame those who say they can't
bear to bring another life into this world,
raise a flag to some other idea of endurance.
These days even the sun seems to wear
a lighter coat of radiance, though a second
moon has quietly slipped into our orbit
as if in sympathy, for a little while.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
