ISSUE: Summer 1986
On a clear day, the jealous
Are jealous of ash leaves,
Flies, all jewelry of air.
They sit, gloating
And grumpy with rage,
Under their blowing hair.
But the kind pine, though
Heavenless, does not drop
Green tears on earth.
And partnerships of sheep
Walk half asleep
On the mountains of death.
But a man may lose the jewel
On earth because
Of wife or job;
For what he saves
He cares nothing, and goes
Sullenly to a deep grave.