Hang me from wires. You are walking,
as if there's nothing for you to see here. But
I can't move; I only watch the sun
set, waiting for the blues and purples:
a discharge of orange.

Children are laughing. Snow falls,
and they stand still. Waiting for
the world to turn, they open their
arms, noses toward the sky. And
I can hear their hums, a clear sound:
A song from my wires.

All I can do is search, but
without motion. (I have been
looking all along.) But I am
cursed, and you cannot help
me; you are too busy walking away.
You do not hear the hums, you
do not see the snow.

And that is fine. I will just hang here
forever, bound and unable to
get out. And I will keep searching:
A youth that will never return.