Classic Poem

You for the day
when sky falls as blue flame
Burning flowers, trees, grass,
quieting birds, dogs, streams,
Destroying flesh and color,
leaving nations of charred skeleton-men,
A world of blackened steel-ribbed cages,
blocked by thick gray fog,
Ash no wind comes to clear.

You for the day
when moons visit summer fields
Flushed to copper fever,
fields with wounds
From skeleton fingers after one bronze potato,
one petrified ear of corn,
one cow-skull,
one onyx egg.
You for the day
when skeleton-men loosen,
fall apart,
None to rattle jaw-bones at,
None to squeak neck-sockets aimlessly
Hoping to hear a handful of stone words rattle —
Time then for Sandburg,
A long think,
A great read,
Time then for a long sit with Sandburg,
Better to let our watches stop.
Not to hear him for a ticking watch!
To lose his quiet for a brass hammer!