Leaves of Grass in the Wind

I strike up for a new world.
—“Proto-Leaf.”

There are many wise prophets
who disturb us with prophecies.
The spirited trumpets sound.
Would they know about future days?

Vast 21st century:
Would folly be the omen?
On Neptune’s knees,
pandemonium, the planet throbs.

Unforeseen future
composed of infinite threads.
Must one climb to the peak?
Must one defend the caves?

Leaves of grass light our way,
light of inexhaustible hope.
Countering the mortal sorrow
our hearts are poised to pounce.