ON SOLITUDE

The stars that steered through history

have withered to lightless skies, oblivion.

Yet I remain, resisting

as darkness floods my shadow.

Beneath one tree,

I take up the human heart,

startled by this solitude.

I prefer it. Some say

utterance only ends in air.

Sensual words no longer speak

for uncertain futures,

as a rose in the breeze of late summer

merely lures the bee.

The gestured path is true,

circling through reeds

where time can rest

and beauty finds perfection.

Now the flesh may shed formality

in reaching one’s own soul.

Listen. High up, in the cold,

wild geese calling.