2.22.2022

we do not choose such things, but we are what we have made

I live on the water, 
alone. Without wife and children. 
I have circled every possibility 
to come to this: 
 
a low house by grey water, 
with windows always open 
to the stale sea. We do not choose such things, 
 
but we are what we have made. 
We suffer, the years pass, 
we shed freight but not our need 
 
for encumbrances. Love is a stone 
that settled on the seabed 
under grey water. Now, I require nothing 
 
from poetry but true feeling, 
no pity, no fame, no healing. Silent wife, 
we can sit watching grey water, 
 
and in a life awash 
with mediocrity and trash 
live rock-like.
 
I shall unlearn feeling, 
unlearn my gift. That is greater 
and harder than what passes there for life. 
 

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