the silence ringing in my ears
demands—demands—
shouldn’t i be doing something more?
(once upon a childhood
streams burbled in these ears
and the empty afternoons
warm with buzzing
smelled like moist soil)
but dry-faced imagined tears ask what else could I have done
and what now—what now—
is there for me to do?
shouldn’t i be doing something more?
(once upon a childhood
streams burbled in these ears
and the empty afternoons
warm with buzzing
smelled like moist soil)
but dry-faced imagined tears ask what else could I have done
and what now—what now—
is there for me to do?
3/13/24
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