There’s not much left,
other than a soft ash that covers the branches.
I could tell you it was angry,
I could tell you I’m covered in acid burns
Shaped like words, it hurts.

I could tell you the smoke filled my lungs
to the brim,
And left lesions of soot
across my low beating heart
At least everything is still.

There are no more leaves,
the only hum I hear
is the ringing in my ears,
and the tears,
are dry now, too.

I could tell you how comely
this all looks
The destruction, the debris-
but you deserve your own pity;
Abandon me with mine.

The sunflower droops
To the lazy wave; the wind sleeps;
Then, moving in dazzling links and loops,
A marvel of shadow and shine,
A glory of olive and amber and wine,
Runs the color in the wheat.

When the wild winds rumbled past you in the fall fields
and you blessed them, you surrendered
to splendor, when you lifted up your ruins on the old road
remember the seasons

when the wind was new, when your hands
were good fire in the hands of travelers,

A land of plenty, where
Toward the sun, as hasting there,
The colors run
Before the wind's feet
in the wheat.

Wind, as it sings you; kneel there,
So faint and far it seems the drone
Of bee or beetle, seems to come
as you must have done, in your first
world, when the wind

A cloud flies there—
A swirl
In the hollows like the twinkling feet
Of a fairy waltzer; the colors run
To the westward sun,
Through the deeps of the ripening wheat
was wind, when your ruin
was a music—you
who were no one, once, and colder,

and were open so wholly to the brokenness
that you sang to whatever left you empty
like the cello in the cello maker’s hands.

Oh Lord,
the days you'll spend,
With a vision of hope,
and love's extend.
Oh Lord,
the hours will pass,
The scope of time,
in heart will clash.
Oh Lord,
the years elapsed
With soul on fire,
and mind collapsed.
Take into heart,
the soul and mind,
In logic's place,
your heart will find,
a love that's pure
and big and bold...
...within lovers hand,
your hand might hold.