I don’t know  where you are.
I don’t know who is lost.
No refuge in the shadeless palms.
I don’t know if life
once the flame
became the stone
in the fire’s place.
I wonder not, the souls
their days unnumbered,
no one counts, wander about
the parking lot, that like
these motors, oh their
unsweet heart
might not be fixed.

RLB@1991