Thursday, 24 November 2011

poem 22/11

Which children echoing their thoughts?
I thought it was over.
Each one, as myself, a little younger,
Pretends to be an aeroplane.
Do you like to wear Spiderman shoes?
He asks. Whatever you tell it, you protect it.
Now I am the sort of person who forgets.
Rest easy, little glow on the shore.
Slowly in the evening, same place as before,
My shadow shrinks. The sand is gold spray-paint.
I breathe to rid myself of headaches.
Who are the children who once was me?

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