In a chair he sits
with

sunlight on his
face

yet it's
still opaque

the twitch
of his eye

only
a MacGuffin

so don't expect
a revelation

because as someone
once

long ago said

what remains in the heart
must be obscure

Whit Howland © 2020

An albatross to hang with all the others,
everything smothers me except for
the tranq'
and the tranq is like money in the bank
a bottle full of quiet that lets me go
quietly down the tubes.

I'm a dream or in a dream or maybe not a dream
it could be real and that's real scary,

Mary, Mary said to dare me
come and see,
(that has to be a dream)

It has to be said
that most of this
only occurs in my head,

the safest place is
often the one
overlooked.

Her body pulls away, outlying

Ask the mountains
Question the clouds

What is rotation's logic?
Have we spun fallaciously all along?

Communicating with inexact words?
Kissing off-target?
*******, an imprecise expression?

She settles now on unapproachable horizon

Learn from the shore
Understand the sea

Neither dare, nor desire, to claim
For the indignity or cumber of a difficult collide

Start anew by holding hands
Discover the "we" in you and her

Ever so gently, allow her to orbit
The offered affection
On her own terms

The heart will again probe for
A returning circuit to attachment

Her body will move closer

You broke her into a thousand pieces
So you could find your missing one.