There is a barge floating

            down the Sacramento River–

                        upon which lies

                                    the carcass of the poor Earth’s soul–

            lolling slowly,

                        midst the dead fish and weed killer,

                                    toward the ghost

                                                of a lake some train of fate stole.


It is Nature’s perfect snobbery

            to deign

                        that none shall live.

A divine robbery–

            She will steal from each and all

                        but not to even one

                                    shall she give.



                        Blame the fault

                        Or fault the blame,

                        If it’s blame and fault

                                    the situation needs.

                        So turn the earth to salt

                        And the sea to flame.

                        If it were left to me,

                                    I would blame the weeds.



Summer 1991

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