at this cold
with breath whisked away white
toes calling out for warmth.
seeking the half shelter of the roofed buildings,
i clean out my head house
i’m trying to order my mental disc
who am i ?
what shall i do ?
where do we go from here
me and my names ?
a crane standing out against gray and purple skies
its long chain swinging slow heavy in the air
such chance sights bring me nothing
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2 comments:
"Who am I?" Do we ever stop asking ourselves that very question?
indeed, but it would probably be more fruitful to ask who other people are !
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