when
the soil becomes restless
as
it does without warningit pulls all warmth
out of each of us
digests the nurturing
and toxins alike
waits for an answer
in moonlight
chases the magic
of song
until it becomes
many visions
for the hedonist
to the martyr
from the sophist
to the mechanic
the
trees stand limp today
this
is a statementnot a fear
it's prudent to let the body
find its own solitude
drink its share
find its own grace
---
e b bortz
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