8/13/00

Exile, when a man leaves he
          remembers the lullabies
with deep black brows, silence
for the tenderness
he remembers that the forest was one
place, and the city another
the need for different faces to
          accommodate various
terrains
where he slept and rose fitfully
pulled covers over tumbling dreams
          with deep REM
so many little black wings
  tiny flies with transparent buzz
what does this have to do with you?
   why do you care?
          three children dance in a circle
figures around a candle join hands
one trips and the others run away
          tenuous though made of clay
sometimes there ARE monsters
no make believe this time
          the questioner speaks
let me begin again
believe in recreation, like a child
          give me a do-over.