NaPoWriMo Day 11: Untitled Cento

(Note: If parts of this poem sound familiar, they probably are: a cento is a poem comprised entirely of lines from the works of other poets. I have added two words in the third line, and changed line-end punctuation in a few cases, but other than that the original poets' words are unchanged.)

My wife is not afraid of dirt,

With the authority of age and tremendous size

(that a) king on his throne might envy.

Unwashed feet, so much like mine.

She can’t keep the outside from coming in –

Just onions, eggplants, peppers, peas.

She made a list of wishes and crossed them out,

Cracked up by life.

It had taken her this long to become human.

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

All my wooing is done.

Or does it matter?

The way you expect the sun

At its perfect imperial distance –

“there is no darkness I cannot eat.”

I could listen to you for hours.

Happiness. I try to hoist it –

A word billowing enough,

More green now than any other.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

Earth and on through the bedrock, the mantle, the core –

Feel my own weight and density!

The grass agrees to gather us,

Barefoot at the end, if that’s what it takes.

God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there.