Over the gray highway
A cloud unveils a hill. Our burial.
And if we float away from this day
After our sleep, to another world...
In a sweep of sunlight
The birds! Currents deep-rippling
Reflect their ancient voices, calling,
Calling to their as yet unborn children
And pulling from a fold in space
Our starry souls, back to a green hospital.
Remember me to my young children!
Maybe they will read and reconstruct
This time: the highway and the hill,
The cloud. Will we be a nebula?
I will remember you, dear friend,
When our words are only stones
At the bottom of a dying conflagration
Before they invent the telescope.
1 comment:
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