Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Scorched Earth

I scorched my heart’s earth

retreating miserably

before the dark army

pursuing me.

Threatening shadow

on the horizon’s rim

—burn every blade of grass

that might be green for him.

Huge sound trembling

through remote air

—pile the brooks with muck

lest he find them clear.


Charred field,

clotted stream.

I have spoiled my world

for a bad dream.