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