I thought the rain, prime mover
To this enterprise, someday would rise in power
And deliver its ward in delirious waterfall
Toward earth below. But every rainy day
Little playful floods assembled on the slab,
Danced, parted round its feet,
United again, and passed.
It went from purple to sickly green
Before it died.
Today I see it still—
Dry, wire-thin in sun and dust of the dry months—
Headstone on tiny debris of passionate courage.
Aba, 1968
Pine Tree in Spring
(for Leon Damas)
Pine tree
flag bearer
of green memory
across the breach of a desolate hour
Loyal tree
that stood guard
alone in austere emeraldry
over Nature's recumbent standard
Pine tree
lost now in the shade
of traitors decked out flamboyantly
marching back unabashed to the colors they betrayed
Fine tree
erect and trustworthy
what school can teach me