Blood of the Land

The greens run out of the fields and

I can’t leave them behind

It is like I have green blood in my body

And it bleeds out in green tears when I cry

Yes, it is in the eye of the beholder

Yes, it is stuck in the throat

Yes, it is one lump of sugar

That you roll in your mouth until it floats

And somewhere between the saccharine spit

And the honey dewed flowers

There is a taste of England’s southern lands

That blooms up in olfactory towers

Is it some manufactured scene?

Some garlanded pound-land?

No, for I have seen it in my dreams

and chased it with the hounds and

Left it there behind the glass

behind the window,

As the train rolls past

It is in these salty tears, these salty dry skies

That never cry

Or look as though they never do

But always change when you don’t want them to

It is in the sound of the voice’s twang

Over the intercom

Onto the land and down the hall

Hearing the dead station’s silent call

From times past

Or perhaps

It is just that I know its history and it is a part of my own

Through osmosis

Adopted, but felt in the body

Like the green blood