THE SPILL I. we can talk about the spill we can view it some can breathe it the hole it comes out of is the outlet for human desire which not only takes but makes the thing it takes and here has made its dark cloud blossom and drift where the seas go around the world and through it II. in the marshes the wind moving at night carried the cries of those who hunted those who fled those who feasted those who loved to the ears of a man by his hut this year had been good--if all years could be so good!-- there inside in a corner a jar of grain a jar of oil we can move our fortunes on these waters to the cities our cities will be made of our dreams there will never be a bad year the children will all be fat we will have so much it will cost us nothing when we carry the goods to the center to spill a little for the gods for them to keep spending on us the marsh is quiet the man nods from his peace of mind he can dream of more and where that leads exists only in his dreams for now though some of it can spill into tomorrow so when his hands are scraped raw by the hoe handle and his back is a twisted fire the fragrance of the dream hangs in the noonday and to keep himself going he can breathe it