To try to build only shadows of what you thought your father built 20 years ago he told you what to do, and how you couldn’t do it. To try and be unable to live without wetting the bed, was made a marriage and the final child kiss when leaving home. Your mother would have made it better. 20 years ago she said to quit crying. It was a plea. There were tears. So to try and be only trying the buttered hand so to try and yet know better the empty well unable but to only cry with your mother sighing love akimbo and the children laughing the fun done unable but to only cry to what it is to lie not only the trying and to who it is to live not only the one who tries but the flowers the hidden corners but the laughter in the woods the worried care but the flying birds the friends and family never to find the solid in the shadow the black dark bathroom never to learn to grow never to once live dry the dirty wet mop never to learn to stay dry. Always children who have children of parents who were never children who can always never return to children. The children, brown, saucy scold themselves to play a teasing to mock a madness in the dark, is black and brown is black orange black never back never they shout, “You can never go back! You are only a game. You are only a child. You, no!” But in the dark, is the yes is the secret that makes truth from a lie when the answer is no. You are always children trying not to be children with children. The dark is the past lost childhood to play in. Black never said no. Black never, said no.
April 1971