beyond spring

ah, spring rain

and children in

the long drawn streets

of the city

and me

well, i’m a word

with no syllables

on trains bound for . . .

who knows?

certainly not me

 

watching sunsets

over redblood sands

of faded bodies

and shells

yes, it’s a long way

to go

and I’ve hardly begun

my feet are sore already

and my age is pushing

at my shoulders . . .

go, lady, go

 

children how they smile

but do they know . . .

do they know they have to go?

ah, spring

and the world is born anew

and me

well, who knows?