Tulip‑grinning wind, night‑crying sea,

long shudder of desert sands, and the drowned tractors

bubbling up from our bodies, cut from our tongues

deep into Washington Park where Moses holds

his law in his hands:  they told me God Himself

gave His Son's life to stop it as Abraham

gave Isaac.  But what if each father

should give himself?  What if we all stand up,

we, who are old enough to have held our lives,

and empty out, not our children, but ourselves?

         Why do I hear no such ploughing?

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