The fool I pitied
Has been pitied before
But he never, strangely, knew it
For all the violin string wax stuffed in his ears
To shield his sympathy
From the evil sirens
-- Who only call out their unquenchable need
As if it can't be heard
-- But of course it can, for they just repeat
Some scraps of sound that called the tides to supper.
That men come remains a mystery,
For they don't understand their allure
-- It's the pain of their not knowing this
That breaks the white noise air
To touch his heart already overcome with desire --
That feeling that a lack is found in something other
Like a missing sock that calls one to the attic
Instead of having the strength to throw the stray away
-- No wonder such a siren's song
Would evade what can't be said,
And the currents would reach out as arms
And the spray as breath to kiss,
For that's what love's supposed to be,
As solitary as death,
With all those lovely presents of
The pain and misperception
Like golden bits of sunrise
To feed the eyes and spirits
Of the future generations
Just beginning now to yearn
For the distant hues some phantom in the clouds
Had stolen like that cat who never returned
And so the search begins,
The quest to recover nothing.
