Images move in unselfconscious frolic, dancing toward the
fantasy of shadowed happiness. The myth is more pleasurable than
reality -- which shatters the reflection of intimacy in your eyes.
The traces of faith infiltered through a window of anguish.
Distance open up into inspiration -- turning the absent illusion into
certain confusion.
Pity gazes at me with contentious eyes. Anger pulls my shackled
limbs tight against the confines of my soul.
I stand mute without nature's glory to shout my weakness to the
passing breeze. The mockery of wisdom fills me with an irrational
sense of power.
Then: Reality - nothing.
