Tonight, I think of James Wright.
Where did he go, that he “wasted” his life?
I follow, into the blankets
of Opeongo’s waves.
In this tent, I am the soul
of a flimsy yellow insect
that sails with black flies,
greedily eating air.
Hurry, the world is a tiny monster
that does not know me
and that I must go,
and love.
ph – June 2017, Algonquin
