the flower and her son

never-ending now,
you flower on the sill of being

 

be:
      straight eyes, and hairy smiles
      calves tremble, cold--
      shiver.

and you see through this window, this
town. without care you swarm the grey
and are forgotten
 
we forge new scenes, skill new bodies
from air; muscle, grit, bone,
colourless aftermath of a vibrant past. 

 

and yes, we could fix you. but we lied
you aren't broken, just lonely
like the flower and her sun.

Author's Note

http://i25.tinypic.com/auk0uh.jpg