Faith, That Force
Himalayan blessings settle, wind-wrung,
in this pocket of Appalachia—sung
to blurry blue mountains, empowering
our worn gods, whom we've sat devouring.
Ancient and fertile, full of mysteries
and myrtle, this shelter of histories
is now a receptacle for slurry.
Fuel industries are in such a hurry;
their ignorance pollutes the atmosphere:
an irreversible damage, we fear.
We'd resigned ourselves to being tragic
until we got this transfusion of magic.
Proliferous mercies have landed and clung,
like courage flung from the flag of a tongue.