WEBVTT

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OK.

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I guess everybody's back. huh?

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Uh.

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In this portion
of the program I'd

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like to divide it equally
between poems about war

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and poems about love.

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Just seems like a fair balance.

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This one is called "On an
East Wind from the Wars."

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The wind came in for several
thousand miles all night

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and changed the close lie
of your hair this morning.

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It has brought
well-traveled seabirds who

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forget their passage, singing.

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Old songs from the old
battle and burial grounds

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seem new in new lands.

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They have to do with
spring, as new and seeming

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as the old air idling
in your hair, in fact.

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So new, so ignorant of
any weather not your own.

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You like it, breathing
in a wind that

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swept the battlefields of their
worst smells and took the dead,

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unburied, to the
potters' field of air.

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For miles, they sweetened
on the sea spray.

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The foul washed off, and what
is left is spring to you,

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love, sweet.

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The salt, blown past
your shoulder luckily.

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No wonder your laugh
rings like a chisel,

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as it cuts your
children's new names

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in the tombstone of thin air.