The Willed Flood

She carries a plank of harmony waters
She sees them carry the barriers to imagination
Over to the tureen sound of abundance
They have measured their forks with precise appetite
Like foreskin moles and pirated gods in pursuance
Of trophy winters with melded trying tussles of mirth

Winter will come over that flood, brought by the men
Of overbearing and dominant voices like tattering owls
Heavy with the width of their self-perception
Lost in the gaming season of recollection, tying rent rolls
Trying to bring economics to clouds of haze and brazen
Ontology, that does not have room for another in its place

They will bring the flood by their own willful means
And She will replenish the land that waters ruined
Not angry with the waters for having been misplaced
It was not the water that brought the hand to the hammer
But the will of the hand that forces a trajectory of illness
And suffering like we will shortly see pass over the land