Reflections

I often retrace the paths that I’ve taken
Recalling, restlessly, your words mistaken.
Each time you arrive concealed in a dream,
Subtle and fatal, like air in my bloodstream.

If Auden was known as the more loving one,
Let me be remembered for loving none.
Instead of admiring the space between stars
I’ll let the rivers and rock be my memoirs.

A peek within a salt cellar shall prove
Myself detached from fate- removed!
With each gesture, these panels turn
But my own fortune told is unearned.

Any post-modern age poet worth their salt
Cannot pretend to write a word without fault.
Twenty years of poetry speaks out to confess:
Those who remain have embraced the mess.  

MSBQ