Kermis-elephantine the leaves come back;
no weed-whacker man may kill them.
Where they had been pushed, pulled, uprooted
and splintered in twain and left for dead in
a cemetery of wooden crosses...
yet they come back in spring, water'd
by the crude runes of acequias and water courses,
filled with sand and silted up, broken down
and breached, a flooded swamp of winter.
They grow now and the water will flow again, wide
pachydermous leaves of shade bearing parasols,
juvenile lady bugs praying at the muezzin's call,
and the queen again will walk through the garden
as ever before, walking through the fragrant flowers,
laughing with her entourage diaphanous fleeting lightly
until the ark of reeds is found again
and all eyes observe
and mankind grows thoughtful once more...