The Symptoms of My Envy (are clear)

I have reached
often, for jars filled with splendor—
O splendor and radiance!

I have reached

often, for those jars put up high—
O just one and I’ll go!

Once, I nearly had one:

a jar shimmering with an enchanted life;
a true poet’s life. I was close…

But one cannot remain

climbing these shelves of life;
I know my jar resides much further down—
O, I do know!

But jealous I am of the bird

and his wings, his flight, his song—
he knows splendor.

Jealous I am of the falling snow

and the rain, the grace of a season’s change—
they too know splendor.

I am jealous of this world—

all the greatness that shines beyond anonymity;
all the love that avoids my open arms.

What have I? What have I done

that something should admire me?
I do not know splendor.

Once, I sent for Death.

But it shook its head no and turned away.
And I was left alone, a bit forlorn,
in the shadow of its splendor.


(From the book Kairos)