Questions of Perception

Must the years like lilies own us with their air
and with their molting fountains.

Must there be birds singing and birds evading song
while the wheat keeps asking its answerless mane.

The marching of wagons of petals is a sign
that the mills of our eyes will continue to churn,

to cross the earth, to brick among its cinders.
Must we understand the equivalent,

what blue looks like as we speak about black,
as ghosts lie alone with the traffic of ghosts.

Must these fields fill with the pulse of us,
with children who risk braiding bitter with sweet.

Jennifer Militello
via MF