Daily Archives: November 23, 2008

Enormously Solitary

Sometimes without cause after class,
I sit on the steps in the bluster amidst
the energy of autumn leaves blowing.
The expanse of the sky is humbling
and the stars seem as a dot to dot
that, like my thoughts, cannot be connected.
Tucked inside my black wool coat
the cold cannot touch me, hood raised,
I’m freed from feigning polite communication.
The sound of the wind in the trees, fills
my heart with something almost like love,
pushing out the loneliness which clings to me,
as static, an overwhelming current
of electricity that mutates rational thought.
Nights like this, enormously solitary,
I wish to be the wind, unburdened
and fearless, impossible to ground,
freed from the weight of all thought.


We’ve moved through a year
parallel but unsynchronized,
separate although side by side;
from inquisitive awareness
of acquaintance to love-struck
blindness and back again,
hand-in-hand, half-drunk crossing
a shallow river over tumbled
rocks slippery with moss.
Me stumbling, you steadying,

My stranded hands illustrate
tempests for you, floating them off
incomplete as corked glass crossing
the sea only to turn to dust storms
upon opening. My calloused fingers
fail to fabricate our mosaics
from sand and saline, abstractions
you somehow complete; crafting
clarity from incongruity