Into how many fragments
can a heart be broken
before it is ground
utterly into dust?
What manner of tender
vernal mist
caresses the valleys
one by one,
heals dust into mud
and shapes earth
into summer?
How does the blunt
ordinary thirst of hands,
mouth,
bodies,
invoke a supple rivulet
that, ripening, ascends,
transforms
into the green fire,
grace
and plentitude of trees?