They were not killed by the bomb
but are walking out of the dusty rubble.
My eyes carrying them into the present
where I watch them grow old and happy
not young and killed. You know
the story and how I can't let go
of it and them and telling. Not like
in real life where this is not possible.
And this. The form and tone.
ReplyDeleteYou are too good to me! Thanks.
ReplyDeleteVery sweet of you, thanks!
ReplyDelete