Siloam

This summer day hovers like a dragonfly.

Down the hill, shot with rock,

The valley slides and greens the eye.

Cows graze down, bees touch nugget weeds

And dragonflys bend tails,

Cross of the broken pond,

The broken dam, choked by mud,

The hill washed down.

Siloam sleeps, Siloam dies.

The valley yawns.

Down the hill, festered with scrub,

The cow walks tangle.

A statue of the late lamented war

Frowns on the tufted green.

Not civil, nor good,

The best sons died.