How do I face your
granite impassivity
to tell you that
I’ve failed again?

Stark memory of you who
dwelled but lightly on the earth.
My dreams are relived
in the clutch of nightmare.
Filling the night with helplessness
does not suffice
to wrest meaning from the past
or honor from the present.

Standing in shadow,
an avatar of protective coloration,
I observe this vast expanse;
Color of blood in the jungle night;
and balance in frightful isolation
motionless in stony silence,
breathing softly in serpent dark.
A cunning strategy of survival.

I cannot face your
granite impassivity
for fear of
reflection.

© '98 Deane P. Goodwin