Dominion
We met once long ago and not again, Me and the Titan who ended all war By carving law in fire and fear, burning Bluestems, seizing every grain with famine’s Hand. He starved enemy Will and stomach Till no revenge did their hungry eyes plot. Fire melted road and rock, parcel and plot— Earthen continents subducted again. Remember? This be the ultimate war, Said he, walking atop the still burning Soil in Limousin leathers, as famished As they who clutched perforated stomachs. Yet down deep in the mountain’s stone stomach He hid from the shadows of his own plot, And after asking once, I asked again: Where is the Titan who ended all war? Though his eye flickered, it no longer burned With the selfsame spirit of the famine. Nor had he the Dominion of famine— Veins like rocket smoke crossed his stomach’s Vast flesh, which doomed him to my counterplot. But subjugated minds revolt against The senses, and my hand dealt him no war— Nor did I leave his garrison burning. My gaze on him was on a myth burning— Without myth, mine own thoughts endured famine And I, like the rest, bent at the stomach In that buried castle no map could plot. With a medal he sent me home again, And in home breathes that old Master of War: No rust patina or leanness of war, No smokeless powder grain or earth burning, No wounds to examine, no shock, no famine— All that remains is a bloodless stomach. Suppleness molests the giants whose plots Made terror supreme and brought peace again. Grain grows and makes historical famine— No one will plot war or set fire burning Till Earth's stomach consumes Man's heart again.