Cat cries.
Motorcycle roars.
Crow croaks on.
Jet tears the sky,
Dropping fathoms of resounding waves.
. . .
Even enforest, fled from concrete and metal work, klaxons blurt emergency.
Once my heart trembled to the dream of the love you give.
Now (is it heart, soul, mind?), it is ineffably stricken.
Its dull cry boundless, point snapped, object dissolved.
Not for your love (though I treasure it).
Not for God (I can't quite believe it).
Not for control, I protest with balled fist.
. . .
Even today, aimless in stifling New England mist,
I may mount a minor summit.
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