come to rest awhile before the next leg -
dislocated, confused by the static wake
of the lover who leaves.
Seeking refuge among humans is a desperate act
one more break and you wonder
if you've ever been in love at all.
I hear the utterances
the hum of something they’ll eat later.
These simple words scrawl,
finger-waves across the lake
the curls and spines on an unsteady page.
I can read,
I can form these sound.
I don't know what they mean anymore.
When they go the should-be silence
is shattered in complaint
of what is left behind
the shrike cleaving the black and blue calm of night
as she climbs, as she dives
What will answer?
The opposite of love is nothing.
(photo: Hiroji Kobuta, China 1979)