HISTORY
(Virginia, 1882)
I farmed this bitter earth, with all it's
Salt and tears, and only now return to it.
How many years? Fourscore and twenty and
Multiplied five, all that dirge- like Lincoln flash
undone, and these dead still litter the field.
I farm this bitter earth and still turn both bones
and bodies. And now I am crying, hurt.
What is it about time that always breaks me?
Cuts me low and leaves a gash. - I myself
Step lightly o'er this littered field. See a dead
Horse, bones toppled and frozen, catch the
Sight of a raining frog and a running robin.
I am so lost. I am so lost.
(Virginia, 1882)
I farmed this bitter earth, with all it's
Salt and tears, and only now return to it.
How many years? Fourscore and twenty and
Multiplied five, all that dirge- like Lincoln flash
undone, and these dead still litter the field.
I farm this bitter earth and still turn both bones
and bodies. And now I am crying, hurt.
What is it about time that always breaks me?
Cuts me low and leaves a gash. - I myself
Step lightly o'er this littered field. See a dead
Horse, bones toppled and frozen, catch the
Sight of a raining frog and a running robin.
I am so lost. I am so lost.
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