You may think

You may think you’ve seen every
type of lovely woman in this world
Every type who, in particular, moves you
Then one day it’s not true; unexpectedly
she’s there, from nowhere special
The other whose beauty is so strange
and so essential

My past projects before me like a shadow
of the bargains I made
I sought uninhibited opportunities
to project the naked, unadorned blaze
beneath this soul’s unrealized fates, and she says:
“When the dreams of the new disarm
and upset you, dream more”

It was from a young age at which
enthusiasms won’t be silenced
That look she gives you, a look
that varies from woman to woman,
which we can’t imagine until we see it
That look that says she shares your fire
and seeks to love you

When we love someone
there’s always involved the love
of something else
Like a silent pain that’s so steady
we hardly notice it—its intensity,
unless we focus on it
No one can stop me now

There I was with the group of them
obliged to laugh when I had
so little mind to laugh
I had just met her again
and the sight of her could still
astonish me; it wouldn’t become
flat, habitual or bland

There’s a certain similarity among
the women we love
A similarity due to our fixity
of temperament and she, our complement,
is like a negative print of ourselves
that exposes a pattern and reflects
a seemingly new found freshness

My fucking mistakes
and all that’s good that slipped away
are like the crowd of stalks that border a lake—
light green in Spring, deep green in
Summer, faded green and slight brown
in the Fall, pale dead brown in the Winter,
their relentless sways and undulations

No, god damn it, it’s not the journey
Not this time
It’s not the process
Not now
Process isn’t all
Like a person of uneasy mind
who, though reading,

takes in the words all the while
thinking of his troubles,
the backdrop of our lives
our promises and slight triumphs
that discovery of fresh, sad wisdom,
don’t interpret the work—
they possess it




-March 5, 2016-