poem 71

Itza wants Peace

whatever that means

late at night

she wakes in

urgent cramps

muscles parched in doomness

[i tell her doomness is not a word]

she insists rants raves

that whatever letters

one pulls together to express are words

—words as if

poem 70

sky rumbles

bombers streak

Itza stares

beyond blue

layers shift

fire out once

more streaks tear

home strip fuel

up fill up

rip southward

again and

Itza pins

wire frames shut

hands aching

startling thought

terrible

how what saves

douses homes

forests fields

skills planes born

of dropping

red hot death

somewhere else

poem 69

our most reliable harvest

rocks of all sizes

sharp edged

multitudes jammed

in loose fines

 

only now after a lifetime

digging prying hauling

complaining

only now i understand

your precious nature

 

how beautifully you stack up

and stay put [for the most part]

how you keep our steep land

and not let it slide away

in stormy muddy slurries

 

your rings of stability

rubble walls holding

soil and tomatoes

basil and onions

garlic and artichokes

 

how you catch fragile choke fronds

how you give their knotted roots

something to grasp

so they can hold their thick stalks tall

so their heavy heads might chase the sun