Walled

Walled

People come to see me
in ones and twos.
On rare occasions
of some significance to them
bearing chocolates—bunches of flowers
they come in threes and fours.

I do not know who they are.
They live outside the walls—
walls that keep me in a dry city.
One built with no thoroughfares
just a multitude of beds / fed
at a precise hour.

I inhabit my feet
wander paddocks where crops grow
in tartans and stripes.
Days trim into evenings.
It never snows.

And it's hard to fly kites
in a place
where no wind blows.