Paralyzed by a Life of Losses
Everything’s on hold. In today’s rain, memories
grow their long tendrils
around and through this moment, which radiates
its own roots, entangling the giant forms
I see always, somewhere: eye, cat,
hawk, sun, stone, and that creek
that, once fished in, forever flows.
The first blade of grass still greets my mornings.
The absence is mine.
Another heteronym (see the poem for April 8). Basil fancies himself part of the avant-garde. He made this poem from a random selection of words.