prose poetry

gone before us
on and on
passing through huddled and ugly walls
come down at dawn from windless hills
and still they walked on
wheel me down by the meadow
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
i burn no incense
he'd even have his joke
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
stand here by my side
she burst fierce wine
for these white arms about my neck