Ethics Beyond Compliance

As Eliot would say,

I buried the corpses dutifully

In the garden last autumn

With hopes of ghostly greetings to come.

Now, feeding them with

Spikes and multicolored fluids,

I wonder how they will arise,

Whether they will rise.

A regeneration, perhaps,

Or a redemption for

Last year’s cataclysm

Of paradoxical fecundity.

How does the overgrowth

Thrive so heartily

When I’ve launched such

Devious plots against it?

How does the life

I’ve coaxed so tenaciously

Defy me with such a persistent

Affront to my unfounded optimism?