Three New Poems. By Lisa Zaran.
Let me tell you about the morning: there was no rainfall
to sprinkle the flowers with sorrow, no late moon lost
in sad reflection. The mountain felt no pain in its heart
at being touched across the shoulder by the sun.
Yet, the dawn felt sorry and offered no purpose.
Poised in sunlight the mesquite haunted the hedges
with its shadow. Hummingbirds chased through the air
without consequence. Dew-laden, the morning grasses
wavered as the poppies rose their necks, heralding faces
bright and wide. I sat in vain, caring for none of it.
Beauty I could not recognize or console when insects
pale and ephemeral rose and fell to the beat of nature.
Fragrance I could not bear to enjoy in the roses.
Distant sounds of a town waking, harmonics I could not hear.
Under no condition could I see, my eyes were bright with tears.
Without you all things, large or small, mean nothing.
I am a recluse. I sit now, hours later, beneath the late
afternoon sky, speaking only to the herd of jaded voices
in my head. Worry consumes me. The dim moon lights
a futile glow. Try not to love me, I am a misfit.
Where is want or even one desire
rising out of a dream like a surge?
I cannot be awed.
Love is its own clothed society.
Sensations pass through me, instances
cross my heart.
Every blade of grass consumes me
even knowing our separation.
Every tree, every stone, every thistle
seems to want attention.
the sunlight looks at me with visceral vision.
Countless loves inhabit me.
I feel nothing. I'm hapless, often
baffled by them. Oh those human bodies,
blooming. Lighthearted souls exchanging vows
inside my mind. Obverse nostalgia I can feel
it's that potent.
A gesture, a glance
into fantasy. What once stood?
Who has become a stranger amongst
these intimate days?
* * * * *
More poetry from Winamop
Copyright reserved. Please do not reproduce without consent.