It does seem without hope
this, this violence
that you can never defeat
hiding with your children
holding on to your feet.
Allow me, selfishly
from distance, to point out
the defining moment
on the plains of Marathon
of the Western World.
Time is a strange thing.
A sparkle gets carried on
by those you leave behind,
a story, a gesture, even of love
against the background of machines
and money and oil and fear.
Like a drop on a hot dry rock
or a seed, a fluffy nothing
translucent against the sun.
Jam06
