numbers

 I saw my numbers      etched on someone else’s wall     I don’t know what that means     I don’t suppose it matters       love is a foreign country      a stranger on the bus      it don’t come round here no more     it went out with the wind      and the trees     and my mother’s bones      it whispers soft      it whispers low       but it don’t remember my name       out here in the open      bleached by the summer sun       there’s no need for names        total exposure       the duality of nature    a biological exchange     who lives will see       it doesn’t matter any more