On What Is #3

Embracing the raw, yucky truth

He is gone
and there may never
be another
in this lifetime.

The heart weeps--as much as a stone can weep.
Which is to say, the heart does not weep.

Only the useless flailings of regret, well-worn tracks. One beats one's head continually against a stone.

In this seasonless world one simply climbs the gray stone wall, blindly. One never knows if the climb will lead outside, to deliverance, or into the abyss of inevitable decay and death.

One climbs without asking these questions. It is not efficient to ask these questions.

And yet, were I to ask them...there is one who would answer.