A stranger stranded in the trees
Not knowing what kings hold stones
The dock is overflooding stories the old ones
The lock is the key - not uncovered in his hands
If he only knew their plan, so reach
Is he dead, playing a game of life
In the window he looks around
His eyes near the glass
He is sweating at the brow
He tells himself “I am Nothing at all”
He squints to a bend - the smell of light
Just the sun over his mouth
Reaching out of his ears no beauty was
Where tears spilled, often pretty he fell
Like a tragedy
The bend is light, he tells himself – I’m nothing at all
