I COMFORT CROW JANE
set the wheat fields ablaze. Look
toward night for the culprits. See
the pockmarks on the black-tar sky?
numb from the silence of heaven
and tired of being so removed from us,
dislodged themselves and descended
to learn what all the fuss was here.
It was their curiosity ignited the fires
that scorched a path to the sea.
of days blows through our lives
like breath through a harmonica.
In the heart of every tree is a guitar
waiting for its craftsman.
part at our approach. Come. Walk.
Each new era cries for its own Moses.