Fireweed (revision #1)

But of what use is fireweed?
It flows out across my field
bright, meek, and bitter

The way these green stems snap:
Everything must have grown hard.

I detested the first seed.
I tried to gouge it out of the earth.
It felt like a betrayal
When the caustic ground gave way to seedlings.

Where are the trails I used to roam?
There used to be a forest here.
Where is the shade I sought for shelter?
This used to be my home.

I stood frigid in the Ides of March
I fell to drought alongside the brook
I watched the harvest rot off their stems
I set fire to the brush.

But stained by the young earth,
from repose into renewal,
I now share a bond.

With the longspurs bellowing in the frozen morn,
With the calf frozen stiff at her mother's tit.
With the elk herd, forsaken, weary on the mountainside.

In the struggle, we know.

Spring must come.

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