We go towards specific moments lunging
onto the departed bus. Once I found you
saddled with cares and left you with more
paper. Some day of bronze light. A curtain
aping
the moon.
Day is a buoy on the water.
Heaven will reward us all with too much light,
far better the cool shade
of a forest. I evaporate in details but
you summon me like rain.
Broken cots. The overpowering need to run very fast
careless of direction. To bury hatred
forty feet below the sea, in a cast iron box,
and throw away its memory.
To bury at all.
There are poppies blooming all over the hills.
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