Head

Scented unsteadiness tears the air

While the thunder waits

And waits for us to notice.  It waits

As we bait each other with talk

Talk, talk, talk!  Mere words instead

Of feelings.  We use our head to clear

The air.  But we hear still that other sound

That dull hum beneath the street

We walk, silent, dark, arms swinging

Quiet, alongside. Each alone.

 

Lost, we walk the drift of strangers

Are those your hands which hold papers,

Lighters, promises, lies?  Or mine?

The hands pass one to another,

Mine, yours, someone, anyone:

Father to friend, and each to each,

They could never know.  Where are they going,

Where would they?  They are done

Each and every one.

 

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