Way Back Home, a different layout

On my way back home from my parents' 
house, my father asleep on his medical bed, 
I see a sunset pale yellow and brown 
from naked trees as the car follows 
the old road. I spot the sign saying Trzuskołoń, 
2 km, where my dad was once a boy.

We pass the museum, the cathedral. 
A trailer on a parallel lane catches my eye -- 
two pigs, inside two random boxes, on their last way (the driver knows the route by heart).
One pig's eye is so sad if it turned
into a lake it could drown the world. 
The other pig sniffs at the name on a cloud. Her face can't
be seen. I can't save them. I say
 a prayer. 

Who hears it? 
What else 
is there - the endless fields of December green, shopping malls, abandoned factories, cows chewing on the quality of air, shrines at the crossroads, wild geese flying south, carrying away the answers, key after key.

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On my way back home from my parents' house, my father asleep on his medical bed, I see a sunset pale yellow and brown from naked trees as the car follows the old road. I spot the sign saying Trzuskołoń, 2 km, where my dad was once a boy. We pass the museum, the lake, the cathedral. A trailer on a parallel lane catches my eye, two pigs inside two random boxes on their way to heaven through hell. I can't save them so I say a prayer. Who hears it? What else is there - the endless fields of December green, shopping malls, abandoned factories, cows chewing on the quality of the air, shrines at the crossroads, wild geese flying south, carrying away the answers, key after key.
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