The Way I See It

All I am escapes me.
All the world escapes me.
Just a glowing ball
Like the frail glass
That hangs from my Christmas tree,
Just a single match,
Burnt and crumpled
To the fingers
Waiting for something to engulf,
Just a single thought
In a lexicon of ideas,
And still, it is that itch
Just out of reach
That no manipulation
Or contortion can remedy.
I am hopelessly lost
On a straight path,
On a bright day,
A futile nomad in my own house,
Seeking echoes in crowded corridors
And dust balls
In closets stacked with boxes.
A new dawn traipses
Across the horizon
Spilling little drops of
Gold and red and purple,
While I stare blankly
At my cream-colored walls
Like a cryptologist mathematically
Analyzing absent patterns,
Reading strategies into their bleakness.
The sun knows the place of its setting,
Ages distant from me,
But alive inside me.
It is the chilled breeze
That ripples across my goosed-flesh,
The rich breath of coffee
That swirls from half empty mugs
In the morning,
The frail October tide
That bites my feet
As I stand and sink deeper
Into cold, muddy sand,
The implied melodies
Wrestling through the autumn grass,
The slowly disrobing trees,
And the sundry hues
That warm the morning dew.
Despite the tangible reality
Of all the things about me
That I can't escape,
Somehow, it all escapes me.