'today, while we worked the fields
bombs fell gracefully from the sky
changing the ground from earth to fire.

gramma paused her harvest
to shake her fist and
curse the iron raptors'

'just the other day,
a farmer raised heavenward
as he stepped on a mine.
he walked a short length
before resigning to his fate'

'these are the memories of my childhood
as we played in the wreckage of war,
as death rose from the ground
and fell from the sky'

- compiled from the voice and poetry of an old friend

why does the sky weep so?

maybe if i buy some seeds from my new catalog,

go out and plunge cold, numb hands
into the damp soil

press an ear to the still earth
and listen for a faint beat

maybe I can wish
the sun back into the sky

'Write down these words,'
said the spiraled being,
'Don't think too hard,
just let your pen
slide along the page
riding this sweet wave.'

And so I wrote,
filling volumes, unsure
which words were mine,
which belonged
to the garden creature.

eventually
they were all stolen
spoken in
indecipherable tongues
pouring from the lips
of my reluctant muse

the cold came and left
the rain came and left
trees were caught off guard,
a damp walk,
a few more ticks
off the universe's to-do list

i had a dream last night
of a massive nautilus
the creature was everything
i could not tell
whether i was near the center of the creature
or an extremity
i am not sure it mattered