May 30 & 31

One day I hope to follow the sun
As it slips and falls and withers away
Purple and grey
Two boys chopping down tree after tree
They break the stems and gather their leaves
Laying them down to be burned away
And I know the names of the shepherds I meet
They sprinkle ash on the tops of their feet
Walking in pairs
The dead hang tight from the Indian palms
The idle days and translated psalms
What can I say to the mourning men?
And I braid my hair in a mirror at night
to join the crowd that has gathered to see
Losing the light
The streets here follow and flood like the sea
They’ll swallow you in sandier waves
Often I wish they would swallow me