We are fallen (behind)

Red Rose.jpg


If I could compose
music that would knit us back
where we were
words that would heal cuts
and soothe bruises–
I would have the right
to call me poet

My head filled, with
every mountain we climbed
sand we traversed, and
every time we laughed together
nearly gone now–
aren’t we transparent
when they look at us

After being born
into so little
we suddenly had everything
and we have fallen behind–
our comrades, some
running past
too full of life
to look

Our composition
must not end here
with we–with us
in their dust–
it is time to
complete it, and
to put the
souvenirs back together
to make us whole


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