Olympia

        

I will say something someday
maybe when beams of light tinkle down
the roadways of discordant spheres
in space all around, simple and not lost

                                                                      

what point is sense anyway

when the sensible, well dressed and paid

walk around the starving man 

kill the people unseen and far away

justified by a mere change of word

the free seem dead and truth is not true

blocks of light sparkle through the horn

pictures of water, cups and gold

the fire releases the box of wood

and floats to a new sun
upriver

I think for many

The wind got up to blowing

life away from us before we

could hold it like treasure

or an old and beautiful tree

And then when we try to grab it
count it
hold it
photograph it
it's gone into the wave