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AMONG THE POTTERS FIELD
Who but I has sat upon your stone
pulling away weeds
wrecklessly growing,
wrecklessly converging
as a shield
sheltering...
Unknown?
My stomach burns.
Unknown,
who has sat upon your stone more than I?
Hands gently caressing
cool smooth granite,
sheltered
by the arms
of a century old crab...
My heart aches.
Who but I has shed more tears
as my body lays stretched
face buried
in the grasses
deep,
senses tuned...
De-ja vu.
Emotions rise.
Who but, I.
