Someone’s rubbish
bag is heaved up
onto the dust cart
with casual force,
hitting the side and
spilling gold brown
leaves through the wind
The dustman whistles.
I am still there an hour later
watching the leaves
rise and fall in the air
with every breath,
each one bringing
greater certainty
or uncertainty
That the next one
must be the one
that will bring you
back home.
No comments:
Post a Comment