To we who haunt incentives

where is the last prairie
and how may the Fuhrer make more
our records, the records
being so stacked
in a family’s home

not the white panel

but a disappointment
an earthly paradise found out to be
bloody

the golden rod of horses, of arborists

shading this tablet

John the Baptist
his baton and needle

being effectively stopped

his disappointment played out by ghosts
his translations weighed and converted

who sits around the pool in a headdress
mourning

where is this living prairie