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Dave Bonta
fleet as decay
the arson’s child
where I am in all
knowledge and experience
like a well
Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle, —
I'll lie here and learn
How, over their ground,
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.
Close-mouthed you sat five thousand years and never
let out a whisper.
Processions came by, marchers, asking questions you
answered with grey eyes never blinking, shut lips
never talking.
Not one croak of anything you know has come from your
cat crouch of ages.
I am one of those who know all you know and I keep my
questions : I know the answers you hold.