I was a young pilot in World War I, remember?
do you know the feeling of an airplane crashing the water’s edge?

we’ve just traveled 600 miles, and the only person
we know is sleeping under the wet almond tree.

there is nothing left but this meadow which smells of blood,
an infant has escaped from the orphanage long enough to be crushed

various birds admit their secret hate for us
and the canoe makes way through the cave for the abandoned
North.

these fields open gently...
and the soft flowers are radiated within.