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?