Bulbs, blind green eyes
That open beneath our feet; the sleeping germ
In the dead heart of earth
Clutches up at air
Like the fingers of one shot and entombed alive,
Clawing up to air,
Found months later when the stiff hand
Trips two lovers lost in the woods.
Bulbs, they are too much like men.
Bulbs, their spasms are too known.
Bulbs, they are not as we angels
Who looked once at God with green and even eyes
And spoke to him in Latin.
20 April 1975