A pondering fool
Crying under a shower of rain
makes you think the whole world is weeping with you.
Standing under an Autumn tree
With recoil, with ripple:
The gentle spasms of those imagined burdens
Come without cue.
We wake to them in the dead of the night —
Maybe something existential came out of this.
Or maybe in plain sight a fissure of woe
Emerged in the silent cracks of the…
Toward some sort of ascent;
The be-all and end-all of failed creation
Is where you will find the poet’s exaltation.