TOO EARLY FOR PRAYER
IN THE DAYBREAK AIR
(Groundsmen & Landsmen)
They are - seemingly - everywhere.
It is a pretty Princeton morning, once the
sun comes up - the rustle of leaves, the cold,
the squirrels, and some sort of new frost atop
everything. A fine white ash, perhaps? Something
post-apocalyptic? But no, it's not that at all.
It's the cold, and the chilly morning daybreak air.
In spite of that, and hovering over all things,
as if new and robust Kings of matter and form,
these crazy men in back packs, air-force screaming -
swarm. Their grizzled and earnest countenance belies
a form of new contentment too - not one of vacillation,
but rather, one of mission, force and a strong, determinate
substance. 'We will scour this land until it is clean, or bare,
or wiped of every trace of what has been.' Anyone else,
it would seem, had better hold on. These men are stalking,
with conclusions foregone. 'We shall not cease', it seems,
'until there is no longer, not one, a leaf!'
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