CRITICA

I must begin my good friends
with an admission:
that I must depart
under a pseudonym
despite this full heart, as there
is a need
to slip out
of this dis-ease
go into the wilderness
once again
and pretend to disappear
from life around here.

All will go on without me.

I will tilt into the wind
it is coming from where I’m going,
crossing borders
from one set of coordinates
to another,
as the sun goes up
and as goes down,
as the sun goes up
and as it goes down
around and around
as the past continues to argue with itself.

I know a different name
won’t bring a new life, as
there’s been so many tragedies;
their silhouettes still have my ear
my shadow carries their sorrows;
why they had to go to the other side
in the chill of the autumn,
is something,
I still do not understand.

Even today,
I survive by incantations
such as this
and declare allegiance
reverently,
to the smallest
most ordinary things.