Being human (or human by-products),
We can defeat ourselves, but we can’t win.
“I am unsure what to do. Nothing is
Willing.” Wills itself. Will will everything.
Now the shadows slip like naked swimmers
Into the green western edge of the pond.
“I feel myself in my shadow, which is
The act of waiting, and which is nothing.”
As they glide, another shadow slips out.
This one does not belong to the aspens.
This is not the verse eye of the poet
At the end of life, in a time of war.
This shadow only belongs to one mind,
Mind that almost sank with it, years ago,
When the moon set in these aspens and frost
Laced the shore, and one fish-like creature stirred.
That shadow was willing. The mind was not.
This shadow is glistening. So you know.
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