The children as
people,
as possible in the
ranks,
as the verb to
lord closes a condition,
as tornado in the
mouth of many,
as plainsong long
ago,
as rhythm based on
rhythm,
as fortunate
enclosures,
as land mine
destinies,
as open soreness,
as seeming thru the
peerage,
as poking all
the wound,
as time spent over
anxious,
as boon and bust
magma,
children,
the town, the
way they talk that
is almost
our talk, as we feel
our completion (in
the throne room
and deli), potent
sensible except
children, not the
full town, only the
edge
of town, these
children who can
listen not exactly
speak, not the trump
of
winning but the
quietly there, here
is there for
children, when
remember, the
door.
Door completes the
picture. We open
doors
to close.
Comments