Thursday, August 6, 2015

AUSPICES

Hulking-
tall 

rooted,
proud 

tough,
old-

but- 
neverborn—those trees!

which—touching their sage 
hands high above 
to hush,

and thus—
safeguard
your illustrious street;

seem to murmur 
wisely in these repeatable
kinds of summer breezes—on and on,

something 
about how—there's simply 

no other way!—how 
you've really 
got to move slow

or better yet—keep 
perfect-
ly still—

if you hope 
to hold

and keep-
safe

and remember it all

just—exactly
the lovely 
way that it was.

But then—how come?

whenever you stop
and look deep,
shutting your eyes a while to think—

you can't 
help but realize, 
that you 

can't really (not—
really)
actually picture

anybody's face—not one

single depression
or light shade 
or shape—

that you truly love?—or ever 
even have once?
in your whole entire 

life this way.
And further—how come?

Come to stop 
and think of it 
some more—

nope—You've absolutely
never been willing to.

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