Fields Soften the Blow

but what of this city day
and its discreditations?

the light, threatening quiet,
amasses no riches,
needs not those sad compensations.

its house is the largest
we know, elemental, plant-touching
at the cornerless thought
where even insects are heavy
in its midst.

trying to turn water to stone,
humans bevel existence off,
shaved remnants of cowardice
piling high into natureless mounds
that necessity, dog-like, barks at
in some unforgiven place.

who will remain with courage
while the void ever-creeps forward
inconsiderate, insinuating?

unmowed, the field alone
sees,
giving its pictures as dense as
bamboo, and it softens
the bite
of this utter, frantic and forever
unforgiven loss

 

© J. Celan Smith