The Layers – Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

The Layers – Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

Lament – Debra Marquart

north dakota     i’m worried about you
the companies you keep   all these new friends     north dakota
           beyond the boom, beyond the precious resources
                       do you really think they care what becomes of you

north dakota     you used to be the shy one
enchanted secret land loved by only a few     north dakota

when i traveled away and told people i belonged to you     north dakota
          your name rolled awkwardly from their tongues
                      a mouth full of rocks, the name of a foreign country

north dakota     you were the blushing wallflower
the natural beauty, nearly invisible, always on the periphery
north dakota     the least visited state in the union    

now everyone knows your name     north dakota
the blogs and all the papers are talking about you     even 60 minutes

i’m collecting your clippings     north dakota
the pictures of you from space
           the flares of natural gas in your northern corner
                      like an exploding supernova
                                 a massive city where no city exists
                                              a giant red blight upon the land

and those puncture wounds     north dakota     take care of yourself
the injection sites     I’ve seen them on the maps
four thousand active wells    one every two miles

all your indicators are up     north dakota
           eighteen billion barrels, some estimates say

more oil than we have water to extract
           more oil than we have atmosphere to burn

north dakota     you could run the table right now;
          you could write your own ticket
 
so, how can i tell you this?    north dakota, your politicians
   are co-opted (or cowards or bought-out or honest and thwarted)
       they’re lowering the tax rate for oil companies
       they’re greasing the wheels that need no greasing
       they’re practically giving the water away

north dakota     dear sleeping beauty    please, wake up
they have opened you up and said, come in     take everything
   
       what will become of your sacred places
       what will become of the prairie dog
       the wolf, the wild horses, the eagle
       the meadowlark, the fox, the elk
       the pronghorn sheep, the rare mountain lion
       the roads, the air, the topsoil
       your people, your people
       what will become of the water

north dakota     who will ever be able to live with you
once this is all over     i’m speaking to you now
as one wildcat girl     to another     be careful     north dakota

from Tumblr https://seekingstars.tumblr.com/post/659344880913530880