The dead are heaped up,
worms on the track this morning,
a hundred squirrels on the road.
Leaves, yellow, red and brown
falling like boats, screws,
coaster cars and darts.
I am on my knees
with a new chant at sunset
in the touching of her eye.
Oh, I did not know,
forgive me for my mean grasp,
Mother you let every child go.
No comments:
Post a Comment