NO MATTER HOW

No matter how

he tries to write

of other subjects now -

how the dark shapes

of the birds dart

in the solitude

of the clouded sky

over the still and silent

dark waters of the lake -

he can't but think

of her open thighs,

how her feet on his shoulders

he would merge

with her, that tormenting

bliss half-lived

is the crafting mind's solid

ground under all the daily

verse that is but flotsam

the rising tide brings,

the receding tide takes out -

the bare trees

shivering in the breeze,

dripping water from the branches

on the fallen leaves resting

on lichen and the dead grass -

and in his mind

he sees them among the leaves

entangled,

and the articulate protests

of the logical mind -

cold, wet, you both will get a flu

or pneumonia - fall

aside like the leaves;

all the changing seasons

have under them

the same solid ground of the mind

that lets imagination experience

what reality in autumn would restrict

to a rug beside a hot tilestove.

28.-29.10.2025