John Ward From a Lost Gravestone

I love this land. I say it now in knots— Loveknots of coralberry, greenbriar, Honeysuckle. Wild profusion of roots, Stems, vines. I was once inspired To say it, but could find no lyric voice. I said it with a bullet in Caleb's back. I said it with springhouses where the moist Cool walls would hold sweet milk back From going sour. I said it by coming back Here where I shouldn't come, where I couldn't stay Away. I said it cruelly, I said it fiercely. Now milkweeds transmute wild milk-down Into a comforter for my bed. Sweet clay. And birds will play about my feet freely As my bones rot to bring up another dawn.