You thought I was nothing.
You said I was nothing,
That I did nothing,
Accomplished nothing.
An ivory tower swirling with conceit.
What you did not see was
Yourself in a mirror.
I wanted to create with you
A garden of alpine flowers
For whom bloom no one need see them.
I didn’t really want to write, to publish:
I wanted to create a world of words, a relationship
A spiritual union of two souls.
We were the book I wanted to write.
I expected your equal participation,
But you were fluid and shaped yourself around mine,
Then froze.
Your own self-deprecation and my resentment
Got in the way of seeing that.
Hate me all you wish,
As you did all the others.
It’s done anyway.
There are higher causes, deeper reasons
Than productivity.
It’s what keeps the sick alive
And gives art to the world.
It’s what produces us in the first place,
Before there ever was a “usefulness.”
So don’t smear me with your delusion.
But it’s done anyway.
Just don’t smear what is with your delusion,
Lest you forget what you are:
A soul.



March 31, 2024
Easter