twenty eight

rising like the warm air of spring day
or green heads that sudden crack ground
or the flutter of what I imagine to be...
an angel's wings

Soft winds, rising like the prayers that follow
the passing of innocents
in warm breath comes bitter shudders
pain filled air, I cannot imagine
[i can imagine an Angel, i have seen angels]

Mijn kleine Belgie how you quake
as if in bare shouldered cold, is it
the innocents to whom  you
have given your last cloak

you weep as all should, feel as
all must, for the child we never kiss again;
we weep
when we have nothing of tomorrow's dreams
except  to remember

how much we loved them.