TOMAS ANHAVA'S LOVES

Over basalt and bitttern street walls
conned with pro gun bullets
in gassed or glassed arrangements
the murdered young speak out
on a May Day full of rain
just to hear Sibelius or Chopin
from a hospital bed
by shiftless eye droppers
by a clumsy open window
mending your time
without fanfare dreaming you are
on the top of mountain snow