Husbandry

Spring

In terrifying thorny cases

thistle grows

with purple spring blooms

in great patches

no sweat or toil brings to bear.

The sight of ivy

and sumac recalls the itch

on my arms.

Ancient hedera pollutes water;

animals no longer drink

or embrace with impunity.

Revelation

If I set this field on fire with one

match and watch spiders

fly and rats race

to where snakes wait

with open mouths,

if I fear for goats and cows,

dream them devoured

trying to clear the field

I won’t go near,

will I then see the creek

and stand on its banks

in the vast paradise

of sycamores?

Cupidity

Young boys lust for fire,

a pile of gasoline and a bic

to take care of it all. 

They would steal and scorch an acre

by the creek, swing

from vines, and land bellyup

in leavings of cattle

from upstream

and be lucky

to survive the depth.

Avarice

Covetous field

of neighboring green,

more or less natural

to be cleaned,

trimmed by herds

gathered by the creek

that can no longer

glut themselves

on balding plane.

Penance

In winter the creek is

no place for old pets.

The cancerous hound

cannot be buried

in clay iced over. 

The mare, undernourished,

dies on the Sabbath

beside my car. 

We share an age,

23,

and I too am growing

cold and overtired

of slogging home

on ice-packed snow,

feet never touching

solid ground.

Fall

Marked for defeat, unable

to convince scorched earth

to yield, the labor

of husbandry never ends.