[Another little poem from long ago.]


They are nobody's children,
and they walk with your airplanes,
they touch your shadows.

Nobody heeds them,
they were born on the west side
of the train, in a heavy rain.

They are your time.
Their eyes close on your flag.
They will take no names.

They are nobody's children.
God is the worm in their hearts,
they were born of the Virgin.