the savannah morning beams
will chastise her
those Amherst lillies
will meditate, droop,
wave hello,
the planets tussle and bicker
rebuke and condemn
as the white lady
locks her door,
breathes slow
but what of it
the field runs into the sky
and the sky drains into the sea
and Lachesis owes no one
more than a measure
but the line of her silk
it is a wave of song,
a fermata without a hem
adorned so richly
its white lines cradling
parcels from kings and queens
laden, gilded as a banker
her Caspian brain stricken
from every map
the sorry still explore it
as citizens, cheeky with birthright
we raise filthy flags
white strips torn
from your blessed ivory
and I would wish us all home
if that were anywhere else
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