Woods, meadows, streams
shared by community
in old German law:
so green will have a dwelling.
The language was shared.
They had it in common.
Prepositions were their tonic.
Every morning they made love.
Without a public realm,
freedom has no worldly reality.
Despots banish people to their homes,
where they speak in whispers.
"I miss the village green
and all the simple people.
I miss the village green:
the church, the clock, the steeple."
People flee a city
when buildings start to fall.
Only rats and pigeons—
we have them on surveillance.
I had dreamed it so:
a threshold and a grave.
All the world's a slum
and we its shadow workers.
Here to speak of ruin
in an age of plenty.
Fresh Kills filled with sofas.
Human flesh remains.
Meanwhile in Manila
children play a game,
blindfolded in the dump
When tsunamis come
they also cleanse the world
Everything flowing over,
tumbling into grace.
So a fool said
on his way to church.
Let us praise the dead
with chilling nonchalance.
I had thought I knew
how the world would end
but all I really know
is how to stare and point.
No one goes there now
There is not a place—
our commons but a song
lost as it is sung.
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