May the gods of every terrible hunger
be appeased without more sacrifice.
May no more farmers and poets water
the soil of old grievances with their blood.
May the names of unceded territories
fall from our lips with the reverence
they are due. May the leaves continue
to open their pores and soak up carbon
emissions. May we reward the industry
of their green and saffron, their ruby
and bark. May we bring the parched
envelopes of ourselves and be filled with
the languages of all we love, at tables
overflowing into the end of the world.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.