In this tumultuous chatter
falling around me, leaves underfoot
crunching in the solid pain of chaos
the horizon, stretching from side to side -
and wide! - wide as a river in spate,
wide as my eyes
watching for you
silent, unnerved
by your fists, your mouth
the shadows you own
the various countries that are yours
in the timelessness of your body
I am lost.
I wake and I sleep
all in a dream, it seems
and somewhere
I have to begin to search
although
not for answers, answers
will come when it is time
Rilke smiles.
Irreverence, irrelevance
on the same hand.
Somewhere in this mess,
in the endless oceans of myself
I have to find the summer
to begin.
Only then
can I find the dried leaves, the snow
the reds and yellows
the autumns of leaving
and in all their glorious
chapters and smells,
the endings
that lead to endless doors.
Which one are you behind?
How could you expect me to find
you, in this tumultuous chatter.
In this horizon, this seasonless matter.