"The sirens are wailing, and so am I. Not great art but straight from the heart. And please don’t laugh at my translation." Robert
To Elinoor; Father and Mother, Annie and Walter Arnold; and all the other millions. April 2010
***
Fighting for air
Under the freely flowing gas
Falling to your knees with your last gasp
But I was not there to hold your hand
Poets sing of cold graves
And of somber burial grounds
But not there are you to be found
Nor am I there to hold your hand
They say the dead can hear the daisies grow
But you are the daisy, the forget-me-not
On you ashes they grow
Yet I hold not your hand
Has the wind that blows the ashes been sung?
Flowers growing there are plucked
My hand remains empty
For I have not your hand to hold.
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