You think you are a romantic, do you?
For you as for so many others nothing is worse than unrequited love…
Did life not tell you, it is the sole way
to find your soul?
~~ Clarte DuBois, Aisling of Breton
There, beneath the green cap of felt rolled tall
red hair and large eyes intimidate fate
press conclusions into handshakes and running
opinionated into honesty, she left
unsolved, romantic conundrums of nothing
nothing is worse, is worse and she flies
a green tufted, shy breasted, sparrow in air.
She is of course, correct; rigid and right
in expression, philosophy and form, i know.
for among the grasses and dirt roads of walking
encounters with the many blessed finders of souls
has so enriched the understanding of our lives.
The beauty of this Aisling tends to sway light
heat, and her words are music from a bard, a bawd
that always deep and truthful images fill a poet’s ear
the caressing touch of unrequited 30 caliber justice
her gold brass hot among the morning’s kisses …
the spring day of unrequited boredom found a soul
lost in the warm grassy orphan’s yard, not yet alone …
bright unrequited sunlight burns sea, sand, and flesh
in sun bright blinding white napalm cascades …
Gathering souls, insights, images in beauty, muse
or dream or certain drug whispering nothing
nothing worse, and she, La Belle dan sans
assures through pain the soul regains, remains, rest.