Even emptiness is obscured from view
Here in no room within which barely
Saying hello before saddled with goodbyes
Nobody really exists—that may be true—
But why does that go especially for me?
From where I muse on you in loneliness
Just another one of those infinitely reoccurring dots
Enchanted by your resplendence but
Fighting to tame your wild thusness
I’m forced to concede to what is outside myself
Being I signifies such pointless points on a vast plain.
How else to penetrate into your beauteous form—
Obstructed by the forces of stasis
Desiring only to know the long history of your ceaselessness—
Succumbed to admiration of what is eternal in you;
Sunk in innumerable folds of an abstraction.
Rhetorical poetics as bound up with the linguistic
As the symbolic is to the universality of Donne’s flea,
The Ayeyarwaddy neither comes nor goes
But rather persists in perpetual mutability.
So too by virtue of having already begun
Already we’ve commenced in separating,
Whether I stay with you or remain in flux.
Trying not to try and simply trying are the same.
If we loved, truly then, we truly loved.
For however brief a moment those who are meant to
Do. The alternative is to go on faking for eternity.
Manifesting progress in precisely conservative ways.
Tyrannically orchestrating harmony out of that
Fear of passing away which soils thusness
And creates the droning cinema we must pretend
To enjoy as the architects of appearances.