There are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking.
Near and squarely rounded art: seeing worth—worth seeing
—let me go, lifted or fallen (or fuck, twisted, fine).
Now see her and me down by the edge, our toes dangling in
the darkest mere and wonder how.
No, of course not: why—why not being
—being reserved for me, who arrived late or to the wrong address.
Nothing but everything wrong for me, here at the water
where I am.
Near me all seems off: off seeming—seeming so
—as though the time and place of the event had moved.
Now I see her again, so wise, so warm, a heavenly being holding
hands with me, a homeless man.
No, of course not: not always—always not being
—able to hold such affections for a goddess such as she.
There are times when I look at nothing and I see people worth liking.
