found and lost

I pass my days floating
low in the clear waters of
late summer’s heedless oblivion,
skin warmed by a sun whose
heartbeat is never quite strong
enough to burn the winter
out of my soul.  Caged by salt-
streaked bones lies a conscience
both weak and heavy, waiting
while my eyes scan ever
the horizon, searching
for a truth they won’t recognize:
I was not meant
for paradise.


like a child in a cornfield,
unable to see over the ears
but knowing he should be
among heads of lettuce.
or like Christmas in a warm November,
tottering with cogwheeled gait
toward the brink of a wrong season

i find myself
running headlong
into the shoulder of tomorrow,
sometimes forgetting how i got here,
even why i came.