Poem: They Came Back This Morning

They Came Back This Morning

They told me, "we are coming inside,"
and I told them it was fine,
though I did not want them here.  Why
would I want them here?
They only move the dust 
from one pile to another
before scattering it again.
But I did not tell them
that they should stay away,
I let them come instead,
let it be.  I do not want
to confront it.  I want
it to change and be better.
I do not think letting them come
is anything good, though.
I do not know what to do.
It is hard to know any longer
what will be a good choice.
It started so long ago
and with so much hope,
and I am lost, as if 
I have wandered off
with no water or shade
and the sun
angry above me.
I am lost and confused
and the piles of dust
are never where they were,
and must be counted again
each night.  I don't know
why I count them.
It is the only thing
I can do.  It is a way
to keep track of something.
I hope
they will not return tomorrow.

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