Keith breathed it in: the trees, the rocks, the humid earth,

The perfect place for nature's sweet rebirth

As "Devil's Garden." So he dragged her body by the hair,

A body he had touched and loved and dared

To tell the truth to. Truth: the cold indifference of the stars

To us, our hopes and dreams and fears, our feelings we're on par

With God, not dust, recycled dirt, and food for worms.

She couldn't hear it, couldn't come to terms,

Her shrunken face, protective hands across her belly,

"Think of the future," she had said. He had to tell her:

It wasn't real. So now, her flesh excised in steaming piles,

Her belly packed with dirt and face a mild

Reproach, he could relax, and smoke, and run his blade

Across his left (or sinister) thumb, not green! But red, with blood,

A hallowed nothingness that gave aborted birth

To his profoundest work: MOTHER / EARTH.