tall
rooted,
proud
tough,
old-
but-
neverborn—those trees!
which—touching their sage
hands high above
to hush,
and thus—
safeguard
your illustrious street;
seem to murmur
wisely in these repeatable
kinds of summer breezes—on and on,
something
about how—there's simply
no other way!—how
you've really
got to move slow
or better yet—keep
perfect-
ly still—
if you hope
to hold
and keep-
safe
and remember it all
just—exactly
the lovely
way that it was.
But then—how come?
whenever you stop
and look deep,
shutting your eyes a while to think—
you can't
help but realize,
that you
can't really (not—
really)
actually picture
really)
actually picture
anybody's face—not one
single depression
or light shade
or shape—
that you truly love?—or ever
even have once?
in your whole entire
life this way.
And further—how come?
Come to stop
and think of it
some more—
nope—You've absolutely
never been willing to.
single depression
or light shade
or shape—
that you truly love?—or ever
even have once?
in your whole entire
life this way.
And further—how come?
Come to stop
and think of it
some more—
nope—You've absolutely
never been willing to.