arJ..an

Meeting the soft waters,
The mossy granite of the island
Stretches straight up
And then flattens slowly;
Four stories above the rock
I sit alone on the old cottage roof
And stare out into the
Warm evening air.
I am saddened to think
That the Artist's brush
Has now inexorably painted
The last new stroke of flame and heat;
Saddened that this vast stretch of canvas now
Slowly abandons the last intent of evening
To a sullen summer dusk.
And yet,
As each bright hue dies,
I feel other things
To be transient as well.
Here, on this old roof,
My resentment and cynicism for life
Empty out into the still night air;
All that is anger, envy, hatred,
Is made clear to me
Bya sudden conviction
Of thought and feeling;
Water, rock, sky, mind-
Resonate in this moment...and
I know now that it can never be time,
Nor distance,
That ultimately severs the self from humanity­
I am made separate
In that my experience of beauty
Can never be fully known by another...
All at once
My aloneness of mind and heart is broken;
Beneath me I suddenly hear the others
lighting the lamps, and it is strange
To listen to them talk on cheerfully
As if nothing has changed
But day into night...
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