|for Susan Smith Nash
Of lime winds. Of inclemency.
Of violent palm groves. Of silence.
Of the angel of death, the companion
curled up in the shadow, with its burning
passion poisoned. Of women
who stop in the sand of the desert,
with the obstinate petition in secret
and a thousand attentive crows at the banquet.
Of thirst, cut short with brine,
Of deer in flames, and doves
with needling glances. Of the beastly
certainty of the tiger in victory.
Of this ancient and savage material
the earth was made more intact and alone.