i run out of milk; hopeful, i go to the store

and during a short-lived friendship
with a woman, we spoke 
at length about impermanence. 
she, who since her teens has not been 
more than a month or two without
romantic companionship, quoting Rilke, in reverie
of solitude. i wonder if we felt 
the frailty of our own 
shared blossom, in our fervent inspection
of impermanence? knowing without
the shout of active knowledge, that we 
were meant for brevity? and i, so many years
wending winded plains, companionless. 
memory lasts long if you let it. 
and it, whatever it is, hurts 
right along its length. and maybe 
i misunderstand solitude, thinking 
my solitary life is in keeping with grace.
i’ve felt myself lonely 
while with others and known myself
in rapture while alone; right now
there is a wind storm shuffling through
the Fall leaves of this, my current 
coastal town. rain brings round 
companionship to wind’s apophatic form, 
each individual bead lending its singular might 
to the collective, drumming and soaking
in their communal delight. i am alone 
in a brief home, memories bring me 
brutality and bloom. and the wind 
outside, parting itself to make way
for those with more solidity, filling up 
others who allow it 
temporary inhabitance. these men and women 
who once allowed exchanges 
of love, they too are of the wind. 
all of us, listening for an utterance 
to form, asking; who are you? 

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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