The fruits of time and tide
And circumstances
Are merely phenomena
Without merit or default blame.
It is only with human critique
That they are qualified,
Labeled plus or minus
On a scale of calculation.
We humans confiscate from limbo -
All our senses feast upon
And call it ours -
Our love or glory.
Then we abnegate, or glorify
What we identify
As our acquisition
Whether by choice or not.
All we observe
Becomes part and parcel
Of our dominion -
Ours to disclaim or proclaim
Worthy of our attention
And our deadly grasp.
Yet, spring still blooms
On our graves
And holocaust still smokes
In our ash -
As the earth wheels in eternity's vest pocket.

Dated 8/6/1982