The scent of magnolias
with their clean fresh beauty.
Now almost fallen
trodden to earth – face down left dying.
A child’s unwavering conviction
suspended from the wishing tree.
See how it swings expectantly; longing
to be cut free.
How to remain human on such a day.
Cry down deep, such innocence
into the mistrust of human life.
If I were not me, I would push
back those years –
my face, flat against the glass
no turn of head no show of pardon.
Let the moon go wash its lonely face:
an indistinct eclipse; left shadow less
in all its misunderstanding.
April 18th 2015