Three Poems
I. Earth
It is one thing to love your-
self, quite another to grow.
Fingerfew of topsoil &
you remember the work of
trees, that standing is proper
to what the many do; you
are the swain of exposed red
clay, glittering — a piedmont
pearl — with irons, of all the
blood spilt & all the blood left to drain.
Be certain: There is no love in sand.
II. Life
Knockernut phantasm.
I have spent my days admiring
trees across Macon
line. Sand pine. Pin oak. Too shrub-
like and straight, I’ll keep to trees.
III. Heaven
Orion stands guard most nights over
the future you dream in humid moon
light. You pray for mother, so
she may see, too, the aegis
of star and body; where now
reigns a cross for crossed lovers:
Romeo and Mother; Christ
& the Earth; Poems and worry.
One night, growing warm, she says,
“It is one thing to send out
roots and more to see the Sun.”
