It is the unknowing of what is wide
The broadness these four walls, bodylike, enclose
Are there parties? There must be parties,
celebrations, wild nights: tremulous
and frightening imaginings in this tight cell
Roads and choices. Are there new flavors?
We miss the old tastes, bonded to a feeling
on lips, in arms, on eyes, on fingertips
There must be stories to be told
with more color than these slate grey stones
than could be believed, that would
leave us with nights of ceiling gazing suspicion
and light argument between us -- the only color
we recall is blue, a shred of some free sky
You did not visit and it is the unknowing of why
Perhaps you are too occupied with work and family
all those obligations of life rolling by
But then it occurs to me: perhaps
you are too in prison, bound
by hard lines & the same mysteries
No comments:
Post a Comment