What a task to ask,
to love and not be loved.
Between neon lights
and the seasons,
I steer a slow sail –
fastened to my soul.
As if I was going to sing,
no birds, mine the only voice.
The sameness of the sun,
a distant memory –
and the softest of mornings
dropped on the world.
Even before the sun itself,
I am touched everywhere.
Around me a fresh mind
and a blue night,
flicking the fireflies
for a wild and precious life.
Whatever else is there?