ginkgo tree in the village
at dusk, when every
creature is crying out for peace,
set fire to the village
watch the mischievous smoke
dance a butcher’s dance;
kill the babes in the same fire
they were baptized in
& the gingko tree
with its quiescent trunk is not sad
nor sage, simply indifferent
to its helplessness
but so are the others:
the water-fetcher, the miscreant,
with his ill-gotten nap
the traveling elders too,
too clever to be still
I say I love the village
with a baby’s breath
Nothing stirs this earth’s sleeping creatures
except for kinetic cruelty
what I could do,
would do,
to be out of the ginkgo tree’s cradle,
to cry blood
from a friendless cloud wisp
Cover Photo by Smithsonian Magazine.