Prometheus is weeping by a rock
Where there are no flowers
Except the black ones the children drew
From dying nipples
They sucked a blistered milk,
And they died;
Ovened in their mother’s life.
And they died.
Those whom the silence and the heat surprised
Could not cry;
But the fiery air was still humid,
Tumid even, with tears.
I know the Titan is sorrier now he ever stole fire for us.
The rock was a cold thing
Far from the petrified shadows of this sooted place.
And the rock, in its ice, said, “Nagasaki.”