I came back to an amber reckoning
tactile with grievances;
hovering in midair,
The fields lacked in nectar,
bulldozed under land
bearing dense, useless grass.
like fallow yesterdays
to shallow tomorrows,
grounded in unhastening,
carried on an updraft:
There it goes.
I rise too, surfacing like
a buried relic, unearthing from
my own entombment,
where have I been all this time,
I can't remember it all now,
but that yesterday had a rosy glow
and was prosperous.
Today it is brash
in floating uncertainties.
I lose myself there like an
old, dead friend, the grief stale,
yet not received by anyone.
I let it go like a sudden, deep breath
that no one hears;
it is an exhalation of my dreams
which float away, light as air.
I'm sure they are replaceable
like a million identical mosquitos;
I'm sure they will endure somehow.
Hurried people spin about from a distance;
I don't feel a part of it though I'm sure
their affairs are palpable and
full of adroit direction.
My vagueries befit more a retroactivity,
my thoughts an eddy among
swiftly flowing currents
leading to some foreign land we are
ignorant of as yet, though it lies
just around the bend.
That is believed if not surely preached
in every sunlit moment
arrived at in struggle.
I would rather remain in bewilderment,
suspense or just dumbfounded,
drowsing in distant, muffled cacophanies;
tiny worlds imploding
as if they never registered in any real way.
They are little yesterdays saying goodbye
with each breath as they float away.
My perspective deepens in such reconnaissance
as if memory was enough to ensure emancipation
from fates unknowns
or those created by ones
who don't want to recall
the unlandscaped, chaotic mass
that was a field