I LOOK UP

I set out on a good road for a time when I can do well
with another. Without the plain, ghosts have soft light;
and I won’t notice my parents, for my young life
beats out alone under the wind and comes into the wreck site.
If only it was water separating us again.

As time passed, the sun shining down on the still trees outside,
my father struggled for more to say. From this way, too, keep us again,
he asked if I had told him everything. But as time goes on
we can plant our hills with tall weeds, yet our feet
will not wear much memory into them.


(June 30, 2011)