Demeter’s Lament

I shall hack the branches from the trees, plant each pruning in a salt-dark bed; scour unborn seeds from every flower, sow them in the voiceless mouths of wells; pluck the sun from the witless sky, let it rot upon the ground; punch out the peach-pit hearts of stars and crack them till they weep. I shall reap the sharp green blades of days grind them to a bitter meal – harrow the land till it screams her name: louder, louder, louder