Letter To A dead Poet
He looks out over the earth, and the shapes
that arise there. The dirt and clay speak,
lightning kissed, the universe from egg,
the garden lost.
He looks out over the earth and the beasts
that dwell there.
The earth is callused over with concrete and
buildings, where tales of treachery and triumph
We look out over the earth, and hear
their whispered panting in the shade of space.