faces
a ten-second tears falls
from bleak but truthful faces
with a poultice-like mask
from mistaken-youth places
what are the choices to change,
stop for 30 days, complain
be clean, let it become, what it is,
has not been: a new routine
they serve several to make
a plan: better go in time
while it’s time not yet, but soon
quite fast past to stop rhyme
landing on a telling song
the three of us they belong
on the ice mountain land there’ll be
no green happy return along
can’t image how to remember
to think with eyes, back curled
deep holes sore edges sunken energies
gladly cut off from all worlds
this may be the land lie
in front of virtuous survival
they only see side views
it’s not their full arrival
the brown land’s rocks
jump stay in the moment
stacked stone statues gentle
grabbing patience to hold it