Monday, May 18, 2015

CAST AWAY

Nearby the morning pink treelined water—
dappled by scratches

of waterbirds landing, lapping 
breezes, and their attendant 

soft panoplies
of deciduous tree seeds gently downswirling

only a man 
sits and stares 
with his breath and
dares hard—to contemplate

what on earth!
his gift
to humankind could possibly be

when such bright and bold and beautiful color
and the sweet freshness of air
are—not even given

so much as
already there—
and not

lending themselves 
to any such clever 
repackaging either—no matter how

faithful,
or fervent, 
or earnest—so much as 

allowing—
as wind 

invites water—
the intrinsic-
ly

obscure and necessarily anonymous 
self-

re-

and 
then,

slowly,

gradual
dis-

identification.

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