There is no island on the rivers, nor in
The lakes or seas, or in abstruse clouds
To escape the plagues of humankind.
All bear the black dog on their backs
As shadow nibbles mountain, plain, and
Valley to our doors. Yes, the megrims
Bite deep but we must carry on against
The plagues that beset us. The way is
Hard, strewn with mighty windfalls and
Boulders, on a high, torturous route, each
Step precarious. We hunger for the meadow,
Open to all. There we can enfold one unto
Another, build bridges of spirit and act, to
Deny the evil days of barbarous annihilation.