| Manifesto |
| This is exactly what I mean. In the middle |
| of the half-acre dump, piled with broken bricks, old tires, |
| and the street sweeper’s waste, two bright sunflowers |
| stand beatified in the slant light of morning. |
| We must over and over again bear witness |
| to the wonder of this world. After the bone-rich |
| ash is shoveled from the ovens, after the scarred witnesses |
| have told their terrible tales, after the weapons have been gathered |
| and burned, someone must still have voice to sing. This |
| is the only ground we have to stand on, this |
| scorched and defiled garden. It is here we must raise |
|
the cry until our throats tear with the fierce hymn of praise. |
Dan Lewis is a poet residing in Worcester, Massachusetts.