Wheelbarrows,
walking sticks – water pipes.
The filth, carried, the rotting man;
who walks?
Who, above the underground lake
has their pain taken
beyond the cremated shores?
Emotion stirs.
An ocean has been blurred.
No one knows the depth
he holds in a heart.
A bottle tossed with one written note –
of written words,
“Where did you go,
when it started to snow?”
A retrace, one feeble embrace.
A fly for an open mouth,
bacteria for a sore.
Fallen grace, whimpering woman
he still hears.
What a love,
what love –
kept his eyes dry?
He kneels in the sand
where debris from water pipes,
wheelbarrows for debris
are not specified
which trace is her.
Walking stick – cremation,
mere tinder burning atop a bonfire
where lays his heart.
Modern Romanticism 