To linger around, to loathe my own trampled heart?
Contentment shines on the tongue tip of my destiny,
but chimeras and weeds flourish on its unlit path.
Yet I continue to search out the possibilities for love.
I have built it a shrine but it does not come.
When I check for my reflection in the hearts that go by,
I search for the face of it, even just a trace of it.
It’s not like a bird has never landed on my shoulder
or a flower not bloomed before my eyes,
but the songs and scents were not alike mine.
Too often, perhaps, I’ve sent good things away.
Today I am here, once a lover, once loved;
but that was sunsets and sunsets ago.
The moon has wept a silky glow over this quiet night—
where one man sits, and longs for two shadows.