12/1/03 branches bare their birds to the wind day flies quickly and the length of night grows the sun in the time it has works hard but barely warms us our beliefs whatever they are don't quite lift enough on the street each face hides its fate from the others death all in a sweat to carry off what we give keeps up his trudge through the long hours we live as if carelessly and on a spree we set our faces with firmness as if certain but no one knows what has come to live amongst us the flight of some birds and the descent of others from the trees to peck under the leaves and the many hours we are given to sort through it might all say the same thing might tell us what is true and right but what it is is hard to get words for though not so hard for it to get to us