Liberty (Lost & Found)
If we happen to cross paths
without a hello, with no wave
of recognition, if I pretend not
to notice, thinking, somewhat
sourly, “old friend,” behind a
furrowed veil of older skin with
in which I might be flushed all
of a sudden with misbegotten
giddiness, memories, a voice
speaking, in reverse, within,
inwardly, that says “what
nonsense!” and says “you
old fool!” . . . .
If who you see, should your eyes
be let go, to settle for a bit up
on this person that is me (and
was) seems almost recognizable
save a certain grim and overbear
ing emptiness upon my sagging
slab of face, as if a curtain limp
ly furled right at the precipice
of a cold and empty stage,
its aura (I once had one
and did it ever glow; or
else I think it did—do
you remember?)—an
aura. It shone as
if my soul had
some great
news to tell . . . .
If this look that I now
portray disturbs you in
the least or is unsettling
and/or (furthermore)
should it generate if
but a faint, a tiny
feeling, say, of
pain, as if a
pin too dull had
set about to prick
you in the heart,
a feeling, a pain,
but not remorse,
I do not wish you
ill, of course, for
surely the short
purpose left in me
was made corrupt by
no-fault tragedy (an
act of God, they say),
or the blame I’ve placed
for these declining years
upon myself was never mine
nor was it ever yours . . . .
I have known much more
liberty than this. In fact,
have I known even less?
I must confess I have.
But that which you see
emptied of me is gone
for lack of it, of liberty,
I mean, the sweet
thirst-quenching
freedom I once
knew when I knew
you, or thought I did,
and you convincingly (I
did not even think to doubt—
how much time passed from
when we met must it have
taken to get there; I am
summarily a skeptic, as
you know. Or did you
ever?), and well, if not
enough; and you knew me.
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its aura (I once had one
and did it ever glow; or
else I think it did—do
you remember?)—an
aura. It shone as
if my soul had
some great
news to tell . . . .
If this look that I now
portray disturbs you in
the least or is unsettling
and/or (furthermore)
should it generate if
but a faint, a tiny
feeling, say, of
pain, as if a
pin too dull had
set about to prick
you in the heart,
a feeling, a pain,
but not remorse,
I do not wish you
ill, of course, for
surely the short
purpose left in me
was made corrupt by
no-fault tragedy (an
act of God, they say),
or the blame I’ve placed
for these declining years
upon myself was never mine
nor was it ever yours . . . .
I have known much more
liberty than this. In fact,
have I known even less?
I must confess I have.
But that which you see
emptied of me is gone
for lack of it, of liberty,
I mean, the sweet
thirst-quenching
freedom I once
knew when I knew
you, or thought I did,
and you convincingly (I
did not even think to doubt—
how much time passed from
when we met must it have
taken to get there; I am
summarily a skeptic, as
you know. Or did you
ever?), and well, if not
enough; and you knew me.
.jpg)
