First light of dawn
. hill sides ablaze
his farm hands move to the rhythm of sun and moon
pictures of oilspillwildlifeincompetence
. superseded by the next new tragedy
by lamplight and coffee cup
. checks written, bills sealed
. smell of newly-mown hay
stories like this told in fragments
. our minds
. too full of longing to understand–
mail in hand, his body
170 houses burned books to be thrown
. into a blaze of hate
. thrown 150 feet bills scatter
his milk-boy hands
. so fast no one saw it coming
. broken
. no skid marks by the mailbox
. no one to extinguish
the embers no retardant strong enough–
don’t all these losses layer
upon our hearts, the weight
of knowing holds bodies immobile,
aching–