Poem 111: Now Winding Me

now winding me around this
thin edge of sorrow
the long beauty
of this earth and its song
of continual dying
heard from the hard
falling of the dark
to the easy forgiving
of the light which in one fine
mornings whisper
begat the first shell sounding
sea sounding
from the ever open wide
and holy stall of silence
that begets us one more line
for writing a fevered lament
now poised beneath
the binding of our greed’s
blinding red and ugly shroud
and its eager destruction
of this warm star
and its children
of worn and patient witness.