Acer Sacharrum

When you are old and too tired to sleep,

Steeping like your lemon tea

In ancient memories and dreams,

I wonder if you’ll think of me.

When your forehead’s deeply lined

With remnants of the tears you cried

It’s a tired time we’re living in,

A tired time indeed.

We’re on the verge of giving in 

To gluttony and greed.

And we say that we are fighting,

Yet we haven’t changed a thing.

I think I live for the silent and still —

The friends you made against your will.

The evening light,

The morning mist,

The impossible odds that you even exist.

Somewhere in the summer sun, 

Where dandelions dance and sing 

Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry, 

Alone, you’ll find me, lying there 

Between the grass seed and maple leaves, 

What

is this, this viscous liquid I’m drowning in, something dark and opaque, I cannot breathe—

What is

Slowly,

I stand, 

simmering in the seraphic summer sun, softly

stammering silly sayings,

smiling at the shining sky.

Solemnly, 

I sit,

in the scenes of September, singing