The boy I was watched from a window;
summers bled their yellowness across the landscape.
Then, like a cat, time played with me
and suddenly I was old.
I wore my history as if it were a tarnished medal.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked the years, who gave me
no answer but laughter, as if I had found
the stone at the centre of the peach.
No comments:
Post a Comment