128. Surveillance

Somehow the night gives pause
to this commonplace
world

An empty library lit in the
late winter darkness
glows with a new
fervour

Devoid of blood,
do we finally see its
architecture, itself for
itself?

All this
wasted electricity, which could power
a small African
village
or whose space could
house a thousand
hobos

Such irony, such impossible
possibility, is this what
we observe –

plants in an oft-neglected
window,
the tantalizing glow of a
pop
machine?

In this silence,
I reclaim
sight

Never at home when others
occupy these walls,
it is in
contemplative silence
that these buildings
seem as lonely as I
am

Yet emptied of follies,
they are locked and cold; and I
must go
before the moon begins
suspecting

127. Sylvan Daphne

Farewell,
shadows

You brought wonderful darkness
to my life,
imbued it with
strange, special
meaning

Always searching,
we can never win when we
vie with shadows

All around me
are happy faces,
all smiling;
it is my birthday,
it is Black Friday,
they are smiling all the
time

Taking my place amongst
their artificial
joy,
I realize their artifice is false
and mine is
true

it is only I who is
pretending

My only regret being
why I could never
figure out why I was so
unhappy

Always questioning,
always wondering,
always
dreaming –

Perhaps there was only this
world,
these trees,
and that is what made me so
sad

In memory of Sylvia Plath, who committed suicide on Feburary 11, 1963 at about 4:30 AM.