If i come to Earth
I hold grief.
like an unborn legacy.
looking at the buildings
And upon the clothesline
nothing but crows.
chatting away with the maid
doing naughty things.
like cuckold
like playing a game.

why i like to travel
and count my grief
nothing understood.
but again and again
The reassurance that keeps.
like a Diary without a name
on behalf of grief.
And these are but reflections
which fall backwards...