Preparation for love begins very early
in vague want and in ranting joy
the roots of war wake in a cold bed
in loneliness and in anonymous animosity.
The best time of a summer day is morning
when nature is awake but still resting
the height of life in the life of a flower
is not the blooming but the blowing away.
On the day when the year turns away
from its avarice and from its hoarding
the deer will look the owl in the eye
and both will hear the heart’s generosity.
I am sorry to take a stance so simple
when you say people cannot change but
the most adamant tongue is melted
by the burden of bottles and lullabys.
The fabric of mind from threads of play
the figured out becomes unstacked hay
all that’s cut down by scythe or bullet
leaves a root that spring will water.