Cenotaph

as a thrush on a fence post

scaling through its forty airs

 

may be felled by a silly boy

with a shanghai the soldiers 

 

who sang and rhymed

are all of them silent now

 

the first wave torn by fire

the second taken by wounds

 

or the rigors of their service

worsening through the years

 

until the last and strongest wave

succumbed in turn to time

 

which makes all equal

as the names on the monument

 

to the fallen are of equal rank

each man promoted 

 

on the spot to forevermore

 

 

 

August wind

this one’s from Antarctica

having polished its nails

over ice pinnacles

and glassine seas

 

already the flexible stems

of spring blooms

intersect one another

resisting capsize

 

time to contemplate

the hollowed out wood pile

and the dog’s indifference

concerning exertion

 

given its head the southerly

would flatten hedges

strew fence battens

hither-thither

 

and yet coolly

even cruelly

it also brings

new life