ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
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