As a mean week keeps
a tally of its takings
we sing for the easing
of the lost and forgotten,
who mislaid their grins,
swallowed their humming.
Spent lightening conductors,
we flee down a lost causeway
to where lazy seals bask
in the last of the light,
where skeins of geese
make V's in a tangerine sky.
Where droop eyed humans drift
to temporarily forget
that time keeps a list
with not a single name
missing.
Harry Gallagher
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