We Feel Something in Us

I can’t explain how I feel you. It isn’t love, but partial pain.

Its grapes ripe for wine; oaths failing sore; or a car’s revving

engine. Never has music irked a maestro, as such music

irks a mystic. What is this challenge, sailing strings?

Life is ever complicated: sawing waves; crying God; and

feeling a taste of exhaustion. I avoid you; and there you are.

I mourn you; and there you wail. It’s something akin to

fable: an allegory morphed into presence. What must I give—

ever aloof, plagued by inner kinship, and cultic in design?

Was that your daughter? for earth is spitting up secrets. I

met you so abruptly; and never have you asked; and ever

have you slid. Our second ending and hell has broken loose.

Are you not recruiting, eager to further evolve, x-raying

tattoos? I’m found; ever drifting; sorely esoteric; and partly

cryptic; walking through a valley. So show a face, and web a

tear, for daylight speaks of motives.