Life is a long room
With something happening at the other end
Which has nothing to do with you,
But which you watch, unnoticed,
Sipping your coffee, settled back in your chair,
No one, you think, paying attention to you,
Some small event
You may end up remembering more than
These casual participants will;
Often sad to think how little people remember,
Yet this is part of the glory of memory, finally,
Is it not? What you remember, so it makes you cry?
A small crowd has gathered,
An elderly lady in a yellow coat;
They are petting and admiring a dog,
One of those handsome hunting dogs,
Noble, quick, anxious to please;
The conversation is dictated by the visible, outdoor life,
Solid animals, old houses in suburban neighborhoods at the center
Of old power and influence. Was there music playing?
You know how much is out of reach,
How much slips away, how empty
Is your heart that knows.
