You never surprised me. I thought it and it was.
I remember pluvial tides, torrents. So meditated, so strategic.
You located self in parts. I wonder about wholeness.
You balance logic with wantonness. It dispels naivety to read it, to suggest it, to say it.
I never met you.
The days are with ripples. Arts are often aloof.
I’d assert a type of negligence, even placation.
You claimed philosophy, utilizing your mirror.
Only unreality is true fantasy.
Life has been itself, giving and taking.
Souls have been quite remarkable.
Another hinted to you, revealing your assessment.
It blights gardens to be judgmental.
It’s your song.
Maybe a curse. Maybe a pendulum.
Thawed or raw ice. Pain coming or going.
To end up in a space, an office, challenged for talents, charged with inhumanity, receiving access.
I was afraid to mention it; it became a taboo habit—a go-to, with all it can’t represent.
Patient eyes, a deepened soul, he knows by measure.
Forgive the trespass.
