It Never Reached Us
We wish that you were not alone
along that road: dusty and painful,
counting out the rocks
in order to build a small
niche where you could
wonder how it was that
those rivers smoothened the pebbles
but left the rough edges on your soul.
It was those very seagulls
who chose to die in unknown places
that we may count ourselves lucky while
breathing the hot air on a hot afternoon,
cleaning our dirty pants,
a more fulfilling task,
better than this,
better than this which has crushed our soul.
But you needn’t worry about that,
those noble men will take care of it all.
They’ll give us better eyes.
Willingly, they will go in search
of those dead seagulls
and bring them home.
Then you can all mourn
the passage of time.