esoterica need not be
tonight at least, because
an aversion to words has
spelled me out in
the plainest
way.

i take it for granted;
wearing peasant clothes,
tracing the tide with my feet,
being alone, while dreaming
through books, of you, of days
that don't exist.

faced with a strange kind of news
delivered with the reverence of
some fatal disease. it is
ethereal to wait in the car,
stretching hands to the tree,
waiting for you to come home
bruised all over like
a piece of fruit.

hold out my arm
& keep you that
far away.

there is no sense. only
times that never end.