Ashes, Dirt, And Wicker Poem by Eric Cockrell

dead bird lying
in a wicker cage.
hands on the old clock...
...... stopped!

train tracks that tremor,
and nothing comes.
you cant build a fire
in ashes....

look back. the fields
behind you are brown,
and barren...
the memory of rows
gone back to dirt...

just dirt!

the stranger at the door
never speaks, never asks,
never waits for you
to gather yourself...

words lose their form
and fall like raindrops
that disappear into thirst...

thirst, that creates anew,
and never remembers falling!

ashes to ashes... remember,
you cant build a fire
in ashes...

dead bird lying
in a wicker cage...
hands on the old clock...
....... stopped!