By now
so many poems
are needed
each a droplet
of dirt
in the river
the ocean
the fierce snow
the collapsed moral
that made us think
we could take the
earth when it was
not ours
for the taking
but for the giving
the breathing
that watershed of
gratitude when
musical notes
like piano, bass, and drums
sang the sky
before the worry
the waterfall of pain
from the suicides
the homeless
the ex-lovers
parched for love
and filled with longing
mournful and
reaching for the high notes
finding
the bottom note
the sudden stop
dead air
verbal explosion
in a water bath
of positive and negative
that end
in battery,
assault, Trump,
this violent
seizing and
apoplectic greed.
gahlstone 