This way
Imperfect Eden
Ravaged
Of its summer fruit
Bunkered and abandoned
Steals a life where
Life’s been thrown
Heaps of restless refuse
No longer banked
In self-storage
Nor prey to hock
Work silent
As invisible worms
Bankrupting the frames
Of these churches same
That worship
Ecstasies of comfort
In throes of magic death
Still the fog washes
The wild rose hip
Redwood heart
Still weeps its amber
Immemorial, casting
Insect life
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2016
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