It is quiet now.
The shattered pieces
that permeated solid earth
made it a sponge
have faded away.
New clouds form above
are blown away-scattered
by the hot, relentless wind
echo of your voice.
You have been gone now
momentary years.
I have kept the promise I made you.
I have carried it from the swamp into the field.
With your whip and your scythe
I draw Spring-blood
to fertilize this ground,
shed Summer-tears
to quicken your seeds.
Yes
your vines and your thorns
your pollen and nectar
will choke this place
as you were choked
and you will spread.
Yes
your roots and branches
your poison-green leaves
will overrun this place before
your napalm dream blossoms
bursts and flows red
red and glorious.
