Sow broken harp and bitter note,
sow sighing of the open throat.
Sow crutch and cane and pawing pain,
on starless night in razor rain.
Sow hate with hope for hapless-fate,
the splintered memory, the smashed plate.
Sow paper walls and light that falls
past rotting porch to peeling halls.
In blue of spring sow loss of face,
and the suffering of suspended grace.
Sow blood and toil, tears unshed.
Sow birth and death and empty bed.
Then come lie naked in the loam
till mists of morning bear your throne
and glad-green vines rise round your waist
their tender lift—your strength replaced.