The Left Behind

We pool in broken fountains with 
The dregs of rain and leaves, 
And lie beside ungathered fields 
Of wheat in silent sheaves.  

We wander over paving stones 
Where feet no longer fall.
Like snakes in unkept gardens and 
The uncut grass, we crawl. 

We flutter over vacant benches 
Facing empty parks,
And underneath the nodding trees 
Like butterflies at dark.

We shuffle back and forth all day. 
We must obey the whims 
Of clouds and trees, the sun and moon, 
And every passing wind.