Where the only changes are from nature's repetitive hand exposing the architecture behind leaves embossing the sea's lace on the sand, we walk in a year the warm enclosure of her garden walls, and plant them with our memories. We find them there next year in cicada call or wind curve of snow. But the house I grew in tenants strangers, and in this city I've chosen for my life apartment houses with dead and broken eyes will be composted for next year's office buildings. Nothing's left of where I've lived a bride or mother holding her child up to windows to watch the pigeons wheel. Down streets where an occasional leaf is flipped, a yellow coin above the traffic, I walk my flesh the only wall that holds my history. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAIN by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA by ALFRED TENNYSON THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP by EMMA HART WILLARD CYNTHIA RETURNED FROM THE COUNTRY by PHILIP AYRES SIR W. TRELOAR'S DINNER FOR CRIPPLED CHILDREN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE MAID OF ARC; FOR M. S. M. by GORDON BOTTOMLEY BALAUSTION'S ADVENTURE: PART 1 by ROBERT BROWNING |