Peter Magliocco - One Poem

The Defiling

Rain revolves around me as I jog
over the precipice of hillsides.
Somewhere in the German forests
I watch the depot workers arrive

each morning to begin work,
molding the natural edifice
into a thousand barked sentinels
of sap & shadow, still resilient

to their touch from rooted ages
falling rain bleeds life into.
What my booted feet tramp over
in a luxury of motion we caress

rich soil preparing its saturation,
for whatever humanity defiles,
the way I once did a lover's skin
so endlessly fecund beneath me.