Sorrow

Perhaps my life is planned out

Like a day at work.  Perhaps my 

Death won’t mean anything new.

My vision might be 

Worsening.  In that case 

Maybe one day I will 

See only a crowded haze,

And feel there is something

I have missed.

I have a sense that a

Treasure might have

Slipped away somewhere, 

And I have taken to wondering

Some days,

Perhaps ill advisedly,

Whether that is so, 

And whether it could be 

Gotten back.

I am gripped by a notion that

Something was forgotten.

I’m not sure when--

Not long ago, I think--

But it strikes me strange

That I go about so

Blithely now,  just as if 

I knew 

What I were doing.

Some nights I cannot be consoled.

On a couple of occasions I have even

Ventured out at twilight

To places where crickets can be heard,

And I alone beneath a drunken sky,

Whispering sweetly to no one,

Come back.