The blessings of thy father are strengthenedwith the blessings of his fathers:
until the desires of the everlasting hills should come.
Yams are hunked with earth and hold with nothing sweet,
Although essentially blessed as blood, these boiled
Medicinals that mean to eat at root
Something sown from meaning made manifold:
Yarrow root will reproduce a white flower,
And love loves me not, but withers and drops;
Reproduce another, though, it bleeds fire –
Random as straws dropped in total collapse.
Oracular as itching, yarrow heals
Wounds – the way yams absorb earth’s properties –
Rubbing raw Trojan feet hot on the heels
Of fortune, cooling heels like Achilles’.
Our fathers wear such everlasting crowns,
Their hills topped by chance, blessed by Providence.
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