The ground above is green, with sheets of cover,
some peddlers have thrown a wavering mix of salads,
spouts of white eggs
that never could make it to the market
Where I am about to step
Is not woven with the certainty I saw
embedded in structures
As if the voice stood its ground
Stooping to listen
Where there is no daring
I am about to dare
When no one will weep
I will have my eye lids swollen
sticking my heart out
for the next tragedy
The meadows are wide and deep
Where the furloughs left no home
And the sweepstakes of a reform
Blew the light out of former stations
Where the act was forming
The city must be listening
Where the tides lashed
And the crowded quarters left the brim
For life and outside
It is the same aching wish
Thailand, 20th July
Leave a Reply
Be the First to Comment!