Let me tell you about the morning: there was no rainfall
to sprinkle the flowers with sorrow, no late moon lost
reflection. The mountain felt no pain in its heart
at being touched across
the shoulder by the sun.
Yet, the dawn felt sorry and offered no purpose.
Poised in sunlight the mesquite haunted the hedges
its shadow. Hummingbirds chased through the air
Dew-laden, the morning grasses
wavered as the poppies rose their necks,
bright and wide. I sat in vain, caring for none of it.
Beauty I could not recognize or console when insects
and ephemeral rose and fell to the beat of nature.
Fragrance I could not
bear to enjoy in the roses.
Distant sounds of a town waking, harmonics I
could not hear.
Under no condition could I see, my eyes were bright with
Without you all things, large or small, mean nothing.
a recluse. I sit now, hours later, beneath the late
afternoon sky, speaking
only to the herd of jaded voices
in my head. Worry consumes me. The dim
a futile glow. Try not to love me, I am a misfit.
Where is want or even one desire
rising out of a dream
like a surge?
I cannot be awed.
Love is its own clothed society.
Sensations pass through me, instances
cross my heart.
of grass consumes me
even knowing our separation.
Every tree, every
stone, every thistle
seems to want attention.
sunlight looks at me with visceral vision.
Countless loves inhabit me.
I feel nothing. I'm hapless,
baffled by them. Oh those human bodies,
souls exchanging vows
inside my mind. Obverse nostalgia I can feel
A gesture, a glance
into fantasy. What once stood?
has become a stranger amongst
these intimate days?