poem 191 of a poem a day for 2012

shiny echo disguises of the Goddess mining the tides

when the Earth is turned

from spade to dead starry steam

will it matter if we age our innocence

to die withered by blaming sin

while the alchemical fire

of our souls’ reach for more remains

piled high in our memory

raising the Lazarus of free will  

intentionally spilling blood

into the Piezoelectric fields

that we till with rusted steel

to feel our way along

where we might fence our good

John Deere once made the plow

that broke the plains

and science has re-animated wanting

in each frenzy limb

in each lurch trawl of the seasons

in each ghosted Spring ever since

the high priests of seeds

put patents on the wind

and each carve of hunger

yet to be wrinkled skin

or some other clock

that says dig dig dig

the dead will sing here

and know each moment

is eventually owned in ashes

in pockets

in what Love does

when we let go of hope

to rust with a belly of fire

still so alive in our eyes

EJR ©