TRIBUTE TO ANN FRANK

(IN TRIBUTE TO ANN FRANK)

Tread softly, tread softly, 

boots marching to the thud 

Of a cobblestoned beat.
Tramp upon, beat upon 

a huddled figure in breathless 

darkened ruins impaled.

Tread softly, more, more softly.
She clutch ravenous dreams 

toward emaciated glow.
She raises her delicate head, her stalked, 

fragile-stemmed neck, raises her woman- child 

limbs emaciated by hunger.

Tramp upon, beat upon, softly. 

tread most softly.
Glistening bridges, water furtively stealing 

through treacherous nights.
This night it is after night, it is morning, 

it is after morning. It is night again. 

I will walk and run and laugh and dance 

over bridges curved in sunny air, 

bitter salt of the great ocean
patiently throbbing.
I will walk, I will run

Spun into green-core earth.

Arrows pierce a woman's heart in still, 

chilled sleep.
She spins, antique bird of velvet 

in a carpeted night.

I looked for the world everywhere 

But I did not find it.

Child-woman resting now, 

sleeping now peaceful now,
suspended beyond beloved bridges 

in hazy dusky glow.

I still believe that people are good