Of grief and greed

Such precision
in this blessing --
fingers held just so,
perfectly balanced,
lightly touching --
and where,
precisely,
is the blessing in this,
the gush and flow
of brown,
the deadening
of marsh, and fish;
of beaches, birds and livelihoods?
I try so hard to see
that every curse contains a blessing,
but here, in this disaster,
I can see only death;
the good of many lost
to the greed of the few --
but wait, I hear a wakeup call:
isn't it our greed, too?


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