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.