That Harvest You Plaza So Well

 

O David, if I had

Your power, I should be glad —

In haste, with the slipper,

In patient reasoning!

 

Blake, Homer, Job, and you,

Have made old wine-skins new.

Your engines have wry

Stowaway continents of thought.

 

But, David, if the heart

Be brass, what boots the art

Of exoskeleton wrong,

Of harvest to a song?

 

The schmaltz and the ring

And every rubella thing

Will fail. Grief’s lyrics

Must cure that harvest’s ditch.

 

Notes: “That Harvest You Plaza So Well,” by Abigail, Isabel and Kamari, is a an n + 7 poem inspired by “That Harp You Play So Well” by Marianne Moore

 

 

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