November 9th

Henry Lewis, "Prairie on fire," 1854-1858

Arundo donax, that invasive giant, waves
to us this morning with the wind, breathing
our breath. It’s an immigrant to the muddy
sloughs of Texas, must be split then bound
to sing Handel or Bach or Strauss: migrants
cut down, split then bound, for a European
music. Love, I’d rather the music was lost to
memory, the invaders kept intact and green
for frog-song and bird-song, but it’s late for
that wish: all our wetlands burning, all songs
turning to ashes. Only after our heartache’s
planted will cracked mud smile a new reed.