Saturday, May 23, 2015

Born of the Island, Assateague

I am not naïve—
I’ve been reined in artistic perspectives
and Einsteinian relativities.

I know you loved me—
tried to help me—
became the person you thought I would need.

I am not blinded—
I saw it all—
your acts were far from in vain.

But I wish you had paused
and simply watched—
to see me wild and free.

I didn’t want to be helped.
I didn’t want you to change.
I wanted you to love me—

wild and free—
unbroken, prismatic-sheened—
living—just as I saw you—

I wanted you to see me.
Instead—our solipsistic,
domestic soliloquies.

I wonder—
is there any going back
to the Island of Assateague?

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