Corn's on my steps...
so goldish yellow like the remembered shadows
of a forgotten submarine.

So many seeds...
like soldiers ordered back
from an unwanted battle.

Green horns...
so long and fading,
like the desires of a eunuch's dream.

No roots though...
just bark of foreign trees beneath.

It's never...
another time of a forgotten over.

----------------------------------------------

No mother, father...
just the improper spelling
of a dream.