After Matsuo Bashō, W. S. Merwin and Michael Ratcliffe
do some think poetry is the most
important thing on earth and
wilfully witness mortal beings
and their lonely tears
abandoned by a raging river
and leave them
with only a morsel then later
feed their hungry
poem with
skeletal remains
go on living just
carry on becoming?
if no one will
see hear those
(not) carried away
does the wind still
carry in autumn air
our leftlongoutside
children's insidecries
for ever?
a shortlife war raw child
ignored husband wife relative friend
all can live long
preserved forever resurrected
on a frigid page or a
silent pixelated matrix of matter
only seen on a meta screen
but look here
all now there
are still life less
bodies waiting
undiscovered dead
cause not uncovered
and
blood
blood
hands
this under heaven is the wretchedness
of our birth and all we can do is cry
out loud like this
long and long
and
long?