Voices on the Wind Voices in Tribute
Not lost in the cracks by Lars Samson Cracks bony black fingers against a face of blemishless veils from old scrapbook photos each smiling back like June Cleaver Beaming a clean cathode-tube glow that has no taste nor smell warmless like a stillborn myth Now to see those veils curled back and those dried whispers I'd not noticed before makes me wince like you'd torn a cherished picture It's like one of the Greek goddesses had died or I had forgotten my name Like a fearful face had cut into my past to steal the love from my childhood I had to choke down a hatred of you for that Now I remember you pouring Dad's pain on the ground into a shadow breathless under its own weight Now I taste that wrenching smell the yellowed truth and love