Returns
What good is a rock
if the people fall, if truth
remains but no one
hears the long grass
rattle, and words
burst into flame
and gas, and life
poisons itself with
greed and the deficit
of compassion.
No body exists to bury.
I am trying to return
to a place of open
mouths, of nests and
groves left standing
despite their value
to the market. Which
pocket do I empty,
what song do I leave
unsung. Tomorrow
always becomes
yesterday, and today
flakes away into chilled
ash, carried over
rooftops and clouds,
never to be seen again.
“Returns” first appeared here in September 2017.
Nice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The chilled ash is choking us. (K)
LikeLiked by 1 person
I keep trying to cough it out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well penned, as always! Missed reading your work, Robert
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are so kind, Nicole. Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved it all, Robert but especially the words “tomorrow always become yesterday…” Gorgeous! ๐
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Susi. That’s the problem: tomorrow becomes yesterday all too quickly these days. ๐
LikeLiked by 1 person
So true! ๐
LikeLike