Friday, March 23, 2012

From The Field

You drew me forth,
Planted me,
Then moved on
To another planet,
Another row,
One in a field of red tulips
Offered to the sky.

I found a rhythm in your words,
Lord of King James,

Rhythm in the tide of tears
That rises from earth deep
Through my roots
And spills,

Reckless rises fragrant golden oil
And red squandered blood.

At night
I am a censor swinging
among singing stars.

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