Processes of Purity

When Jeremy and I
Walk down Westmoor in
February, I know the
Nasturtium leaves have
Collected rain water in the
Center of their green veined
Hearts.  The glass beads have
Gathered large and clear and the
Cavities of our chests lay
Open and convex.  Willing we are, for the
Desert there knows no quench.
Green will purify the acid run-off
As it puddles within us.  Breathing
Droplets will filter through the
Flimsy cheesecloth and
Strike the sand in silence.  Perhaps
Light will transfigure each into
Bits of bread—flaked, illumined,
Descending.  But the black writhing
Wire trees below will refuse to be
Dampened or fed, screaming
Abuse at One who requests the
Raising of birch bark arms into
His monochrome sky.