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Description
You, Martin
with your tubes for hands
disease for breath
you never lack words
when I lack righteousness

But your soft slippers, perfect for long treks
on your endless mountain
hum gently that old lullaby that spiders sing to their young
and that penny I dropped in your eye
I never saw again.

Oh, you, Martin
you laid down upon the splintered tracks
when I just became old enough
to board the train.

Description
You, Martin
with your tubes for hands
disease for breath
you never lack words
when I lack righteousness

But your soft slippers, perfect for long treks
on your endless mountain
hum gently that old lullaby that spiders sing to their young
and that penny I dropped in your eye
I never saw again.

Oh, you, Martin
you laid down upon the splintered tracks
when I just became old enough
to board the train.