Returnee

For thirty years long I fled my fears Until I was wax soft and white like moon The fugitive only his own voice hears His lips trembling swell the empty spoon Shattering dusty teeth. O the exile Has returned, now he is out of style. I brought back no Oshawi gold No meteorite tail in alphabet soup Trailing my name, defining soul As a horse broken with lariat and loop And climbed the guango tree first Trying to remember where I put my thirst. Long love ago, long dream broken Mother died and the distance in silence Was truth in pain so plainly spoken For only birth and death has no pretence I love my country and it does not care The eyes of clouds follow me and stare.