The paraplegic boy stands like a cross,
shivering in the cold seeping through his fingers.
Tireless corporate offices
keep thundering with a sense of wholeness of life.
Siberian geese are already skimming the lake
between the reeds, not taking more than what they need.
Here in winter I brood for no reason.
I don’t have to be good, and fail.
It wouldn’t be bad at all to be
a meaningless figure not trying to get somewhere.
|
