it's a cold wind
picking up the trash,
the debris
of our lives.
the useful and useless
things
we drag about from
place to place,
none being a real home.
just stops
along the way.
it's a cold wind
that blows up our sleeve
gets between
our coats,
reddens our cheeks.
we walk and walk, we
try to stay warm,
but the wind says no,
it's late for that.
there will be more.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment