The children, like bright flowers in their back packs off to school
The keepers in their somber blues collecting trash
Beautiful cool quiet cool just a little wave of breeze turning the sweet gum leaves
The mourning doves, the mourning doves!

And you are not here. Are far away, and in danger, and I love you. And I need you, and you are far away, and in danger.

The Triffid, every day, lifts itself a little closer to the pane, turning in its slow plant tide toward the light.
And you are not here.
Are far away.
And in danger.

Oh, please let my love be the tide
which carries you home, away from the pain, in safety.
Please.

~~ Julie Li