Is there ever a weight so crushing as
the watching relentless eye?
I turned to find
naughty
but air chilled.
I am the watcher over this place,
under the light.
And I see my reflection lost in those desire for nothingness.
I see my song again on
the fluttering.
And I hear them also in those automobiles,
though they say to still it.
A flower now brought continuously
down.
Hitting the stone
now.
A steak of colors black,
in a lingering procession.
A wooden thing standing
wrongly.
A quick heartbeat of my own
for theirs is gone.
My thoughts do strangle themselves as I
fly myself to the oak.