A handbag

A handbag

Looks ordinary

But many suffering it may relieve

Heal wounds

In night

In light

But why not wait

Around a bend

And not on my curd

So

Strained.

A call

Arrives each moment

A wound after a wound upon it

A roar

Nearer and nearer

Here come the ghosts

While life floats

There

And the death returns here

To me

Before my eyes, so dreamy,

Life

Do not die on me,

Before me.

They know

They come from the dark, shining

You

They offer, they give.

A handbag

Hanging on the shoulder

A drop in a stone

For now long

In a blaze of war?