Elegy

[milo]

Why should we bother
to stipple-foot gather
where the sun broken-melons the sky.
And we try -
to couch up our fists over raw amethysts
and the schists of our home
of our bones.
But the blood runs chough-black
as we ride on their backs
through the brack
through the brack
of the stones.
I will unclench this couch
I won't cough, I won't slouch
I won't curse
the bean green of the clover.
The tractors wont cough
as they plow the cleft rough
I won't curse
as they turn the earth over.
The chore hands won't stay
and the orchids won't pray
oh daddy
I miss you today.
oh daddy
I miss you
today.