| |
You come leading a flock
so I know you will not be staying.
Wearing appendages
you sweep and wash and scour,
while I wake in an upstairs bedroom, alone
white silent walls meet closed doors,
glaring bruises freshly dress
sunlit parts of fleshy pallor.
Yet, I am unaware of their origin.
Only sorrow and tears and worry and loss
are the curiosities of mystery plundering
my troubled mind;
an arm here, a leg there, such dreams!
Things in china that should
be carried upon shoulders,
not in wet ceramic bowls.
Beneath the tunnel we fled.
Not many emerged.
Finding myself hidden under a blanket of snow,
in the cold I strained to see the two of you
Had been left behind'
|
|
