The long road...
The long road of it all
is an echo,a sound like an image
expanding, frames growing
one after one in ascending
or descending order,
of us a rising, falling
thought, an explosion
of emptiness soon forgotten
*
As a kid I wondered
where do they go,
my father dead. The place
had a faded dustiness
despite the woods and all.
We all grew up.
I see our faces
in old school pictures.
Where are we now?
ROBERT CREELEY
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