Quiet Song

They are all outside,

with flowers. Not for me



but each other. Not for me

but the wind.



The one window just above ground.

I see foot upon foot, see them all



as they hear my tune and throw

each bouquet high into the air.



I don’t need to see it, the movement

of each foot saying it all,



saying who am I to wish

for anything, who am I to do anything



but watch each flower

wave goodbye.