Does it
trouble you
the way in which
one thing insufferably
leads
to another?
Watching the horizon
as one cloud
irrevocably merges
with a partner—
and just as the evening
comes bleeding into afternoon—
may be enough
to set some people off.
Such diagnosed souls
might feel choked
when there's so little room
for doubt.
For the born-lonely
and the hidden,
this threat of what's
separate's constant
convergence
is a poison;
they reason
that always wanting more
is clumsy,
and it's greedy—
wanting less, a prim
and penitent
expression
of their grief.
