Those spectators are gone to another
Zoo to glare with the weight of iron
On an as yet free, mild wilderness
Be it child or me or otherwise,
They change the nature of it by pushing,
Grasping the sifting crowd of selves,
Not knowing that love lies not
In newness or answerable questions.
Ripping the spectacle to carrion
They entomb it in harshly with their
Sudden and thoughtless stone of
Marching, marching, marching away.
The mob of unrelenting witness dispels.
It is gone and yet some stay still.
The patient stand their ground
And they all hope to hear the sound.
Unseen, she lays sweetly on simple mysteries,
Hearing the histories of familiar feet
On a floor of received wrongs and
Forgiveness in an unending hallway
So I kneel and touch the dirt
With raw and tear-wet fingers
I begin the dusty work of dragging
The crumbs of earth to somewhere
The measure of reverence is time
In my mind, the beads of thought
Shiver and linger like dew till they
Seep into my lot of moments known
R.L.C