Friday was not the day; perhaps
No day ever will be. This is
Too familiar: start, falter, and regress
Until lack of acknowledgement gives way
To positive avoidance.

My problem is becoming attached
To nothing. There is really no more than
Coincidences of time and location, and yet
I planted their acorns in my mind and
Imagined them growing into
Imposing, impossible oaks.

Perhaps this is why she backs away.
Perhaps she sees the vast, dense forest
In my eyes blocking out the Sun
In her sky.

This is what I build instead of
A wall: a tulgy wood into which
No one dare step; a hostile environment
Full of traps for the unwary.
I berate myself for doing nothing when
I really do too much, swinging so far
That I miss anyway.

Even in acceptance of failure
There is no respite, for there is
Still hope that backing away will
Cause her to approach.

Seeing her makes me miserable, but
Still I hope to see her, each time wanting
It to be different even though
Nothing has changed.

It is time to move on, but I remain
Rooted to the spot, an imposing,
Impossible oak, blocking the Sun from
So many eyes, waiting to be
Cut down to size.

12/06/2015

Posted on 02/05/2016
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