a few clouds pass

in these fresh leaves the light drips green
we aren't asleep but aren't fully alert
what we can see is not what may be seen

the things that pain us do more than hurt
they give us meaning and they take it back
don't think of us as any more than dirt

whatever rises will be coloured black
to indicate its purely empty power
there's no time for ease here or slack

craving the rest craving the hottest shower
no place for peace no place to set it down
we wait the longest most regarded hour

the trees here hide the fact we're in a town
the bustle tells us otherwise we know
each face has become set hard in a frown

what knowledge we have will not let us go
we cannot walk but now we've got to run
we're underway but not yet under tow

we look downhill toward the setting sun