The Grove
mh   4/15/98


"when all are shallow it’s easy to drown,"
says a sinking leaf before being swallowed
in the murky pool of mediocrity,
that damp bog who conforms and transforms
upon itself like a million smeared mirrors.

A sycamore grove entombs the 
evolutionary error, forced by 
Napoleonic Nature to feed from it.
A few leaves remain heaven-held;
but most submit, seduced by muddy nymphs.

Hell within Eden’s walls, the leaves playing Adam,
man epitomized as nature seeps soundly
through the grove, preparing for another
Fall from grace into graceful impotence;
Horror is only algae-deep.