by Harvey Lillywhite
Loneliness is our kryptonite,
But let's be clear: that place
Where you slipped a trout
Into your wicker creel
While mayflies hatched
Above the eddying pools
Behind big rocks in the river
Where waiting still your father's spirit
Returns for you is gone. Understand,
There is this widening country
Behind you that passing seconds
Enlarge and a second world
In front of you full of murmurs
And echoes that recedes an inch
For every inch by slow sedimentation
Apocalyptically the first country
Whorls away behind you, so to speak,
Yet you stand in a present moment
Without end, always alone.
What you need will usually come
From the low-lying mists' empty
Rooms in that place ahead; cast out
Your wish. Maybe some intimate
Stream quite magically will provide.
But no matter what joy winks, glints
In your hand, immeasurable
Sadness that symmetry requires
Must fill the parentheses you
Live in most certainly alone.