The rose of the western world
grows amidst dark pain
the life hungry, the true lovers suffer
for want of rose breath.
Our children need to play
amidst fish in flashing rivers.
Big souled women need to sing
spirit songs together.
holding our sassy babies in their laps
as they weave their heart’s beauty
into cloths of justice—
lamb’s wool and yellow reeds
into clothes for all our seasons.
Men need to love earth again:
to turn her, to knead her,
plunge their hands and naked feet into her,
pour sweet mash into her dry loins,
whisper poems to her beauty:
make her silky, make her moist
for white seeds of pearls, gold seeds of corn,
black seeds of beautiful melons.
Fathers need to love the sea with their sons again —
the white whirl of it. The taste of brine on lips
will be a liquor to make them drunk together
with life. Then silver waters will shiver
the people’s bones day and night, and in each
other’s arms — chest to breast,
arm entwining arm,
hands on warm bodies —
will rise amongst us the odor of bread,
the color of carnations,
the secret fragrance
of the rose
of the western world.
Pages: Visual Poems and Wisdom
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