In cloaks of words I wrap myself against the weather
Storms I conjured up as punishment.
Hands full of swords thrusting up out of the earth
The round route I take.  Gazelles return again
To the brink, to drink.  And me? To think.
So I skirt mans burning fire, hyena lurking
Laughing in the dark.  A great arc I make
Like a dim sun at the end of his leash
Scribing the day across the sky...

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For Robert Watson Not so much walking, as rocking side to side, each step an inch at most, like a wind-up toy.  It's a long hallway, but it's early yet.  Boiled vegetable puree and chicken broth again.  Everything hurts.  Most of all, the children.  Sleepless nights, unawakened days.      Brethren will come when it's too late.  there's nothing left but to linger.  The road ahead is grim, thi...

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