A Little Like Living

What if the world is a secret
Whispered around
In search of a treasure
Never meant to be found?

The Eclectic

I swim in the sand
And in rivers of flying doves I lie
Gazing at my private sky;
Left to roam in chrysalis
Upon the wounded edges of my eyelids
A morphed metaphor for measure,
Who found the infinity
To be naught
The palpable universe
Alas planted within a thought

Of Bones Beneath the Branches

There were cypress beyond the city wall
With cones like eyes upon them
And I tended each for long until I felt
They saw far too much of me
And showed far too little of themself
(Those leaves with their whispers and those roots with their secrets)
So I did not water come the summer, I did not water come the winter;
And the leaves, they yellowed and fell,
And frost took the roots
Slipping needles of ice into their breaths
Till decades were laid silent
Like sand beneath the ocean.
I walk beyond the wall now and then
Dressed in nothing but the evening
And stand under the cypress
And watch the antler twigs sway
Hiding nothing now but melancholy motion
The sense of sleep
And I wonder at the difference, if any, between our shared nakedness