7 February 1983

Digesting the implosion: over the years,

even torn from your crowns

and dismembered bodies,

you clutch the violent

in graceful roots

never showing

in your nectar

and scent

the evil

condiment.

No longer

standing

mentors

of life

you are

those

wise

servants

whom the

Master will put

in charge of his household

to give

his bees nectar and pollen cake

so they can make wax candles

that adorn and light

the endless liturgy:

now from the censer you flood the skies with

intoxicating scent created from life recycled in

a suburban garden

gracefully.

Notes

These two pollarded Tilia stood in a suburban garden, and clutched in their roots were two unstable ordnance from the war.