Issue 103, Summer 1987
I asked you to have faith in me!
But the four comers of the world smile dumbly.
Envious as the mountain
of water’s movement at its feet,
spring leaves tum bitter green
snapping in the wind of their own volition —
a maelstrom at the height of malaise.
Ubiquitously, it surrounds me like a moat.
While I, stationary and fretful as a star,
am compared to the incomparable night.
Haven’t I carried your wish this far?
Plucked out from the throng of circulating souls
you pulled me down and funneled me into flesh
with sagacious eyes, with lips that nest,
with hands mimetically guided by a force