Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Seven Year Day

Eyes unroll like braking wheels.
Wonder leavens languid reels.
Time distends precious and sure
a childlike patience for pleasure.

a hemisphere away,
a refugee caravan
is slowed by rain
and I must sing it.

There is a whistle and then a blast.
The scent of cordite
buries hearts in ash.

This music never stays.
It harrows up days
in waves breaking ruin.