(after Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “Pied Beauty”)
Glory be to those who topple things—
For tents of triple-color, for the canvas town;
For froze-proles all in trouble, jostled crowd, that din;
Enmeshed firearmed chests; falls, pinches, stings.
Parks drum-spotted and pieced—hold! hallowed, and now;
Their barricades, their gear, their tackled limbs.
All things counterstrike and strike, resistant shared rage;
Whatever is mic-checked, heckled (you? why now?)
With swift, summed, steep power; dazzling whims;
The gathered source of beauty: past-due change;