ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 3
THE SPILL
I.
we can talk about the spill
we can view it
some can breathe it
the hole it comes out of
is the outlet for human desire
which not only takes
but makes the thing it takes
and here has made
its dark cloud blossom
and drift where the seas go
around the world and through it
II.
in the marshes the wind
moving at night carried the cries
of those who hunted those who fled
those who feasted those who loved
to the ears of a man by his hut
this year had been good--if all years
could be so good!--
there inside in a corner
a jar of grain a jar of oil
we can move our fortunes
on these waters to the cities
our cities will be made of our dreams
there will never be a bad year
the children will all be fat
we will have so much
it will cost us nothing when we carry
the goods to the center
to spill a little for the gods
for them to keep spending on us
the marsh is quiet the man nods
from his peace of mind he can dream
of more and where that leads
exists only in his dreams for now
though some of it can spill
into tomorrow
so when his hands are scraped
raw by the hoe handle
and his back is a twisted fire
the fragrance of the dream
hangs in the noonday
and to keep himself going
he can breathe it