Don’t try to praise the mutilated world.
But do remember June’s languid days,
and wild strawberries, & drops of wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must not praise the mutilated world
Even though you watched the stylish
yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
And yes - you’ve seen the refugees
going nowhere, and
you’ve heard the executioners sing
joyfully. but truly you shouldn’t praise
the mutilated world.
Remember the moments
that we soebt together?
in a white room & the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert
where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park
and leaves eddied over the earth’s
scars. Still do not praise the mutilated
world. and the gray feather a thrush
lost, and the gentle light that strays
and vanishes, and returns.