Poem with Spring Rain and Ephesian Goddess

Wind all night, and thunderstorms. I can think of no other 
purpose for disturbance than disturbance, in the same way 
you could think of the mind as the most obstinate refusal 
for its own liberation from itself. Aren't the tulip trees and
Bradford Pear again in flower; and the dogwood and sweet-
bay magnolia; and soon, the leaves and darkening syconia 
of the fig, drooping like fleshy sacs? You might say we've 
weathered and are weathering still. In the frenzy of rain 
or hail or the froth of seawater, what mouths tilt even more 
widely open? In the beginning, the mother goddess wept
for all her children thinning to bone across the earth. One 
breast she milked for blood, another for salt; from the rest, 
rice pearls and blankets, tea, dollar bills, silk gowns and 
bread. But the billows don't stop; their hunger remains. 

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