Whatever I know, whatever I’ve knownof contentment and being alone
is summed up in a few words, and you.
One upturned palm resting upon
the other with nothing to do
and nothing special to be done.Solitude as deep as the ocean
and this self a ruffled seashell;
the skim of a jet-ski on the horizon
or maybe a ship, a larger vessel
made small due to distance and blurred.Solitude. Rich, resonant as a word
proud and unrhymed at the verse’s end,
and my self loosely tethered
in you, immortal for this second.