Rending the thing in my energy,
I sit in judgment: Useful or not?
The time or no? I’ll shed no tears
For what’s not. But I will for what
Is, and I’ll seize that joy now, use
Its benediction, its true existence---
I’m shocked by the hungry ghosts
Of the past and tired of explaining.
Come to me now, sweet soaring
Vocals of the sorrowful song, sun
On my open palm, smell of gardenias,
I embrace the godless air hovering
Above the restless sea, the mist
Of the conflict between warmth,
Coldness, and my own perceptions.
