of a kind
where are they?—withdrawn
like anemones; not afraid, not at all,
but wary; and why not,
filled with knowledge, unassailable
truth hard won; or, hard lost?
i ask, where are they?—i am no less wary,
and no less weary, of eyes
upon me, of looking through these windows
through these eyes, of the wrongness
of waking, again and again, to this.
so i ask, where are they? not here,
that i know. have they retreated
to a wine-dark sea, a rocky, aegean refuge,
a white-sand caribbean key, crusoed?—or,
simply, within four walls, perhaps next door?
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 271 times
Written on 2020-09-09 at 13:22
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