Isolated by patience
on the island of the present
under the dark birds
on the island of the present
under the dark birds
dipping over the field
and its wreckage
and its wreckage
apples fallen in the thorns
the swallows gone
the swallows gone
the night trill gone
absence settles in.
It seems so obvious to say
this is where we are
but none of us
are going back.
absence settles in.
It seems so obvious to say
this is where we are
but none of us
are going back.
