Prayer for the Swarm
Meg Smith
Come for the flowers,
come for the white grass, tall
within the graying sky.
Come for the dithering of milkweed,
and the haze of dust from
the corn, wheat, fallow.
Without this urgent cloud you forge,
nothing can grow,
nothing can weep,
nothing can stand, arms rising to
the sweep of the shimmer
of eternal suns.
