Momphta and Omphta

In the ruined formal gardens of the Renaissance
that is where the wicked walk
and allow the weeds to grow,
and suffer the winds to blow.
They dispute; they throw their eyes with gravel.
They spit at one another as they talk.
The weeds grow strong.

"As far as all that goes" the wicked say.
"Never mind the - " (objects they despise).
"And after all, we - " (sigh).
The fountains fade.

A locust jumps the poisoned path.
A tiny earthquake wobbles.
The peacocks die; their feathers fall.
Pavilions lose the sharpness of their stone.

Dennis List