thinking

i have always looked at you
from the tip of your hair to the tip of your toes
and you noticed me many times doing it
but you do not do much of the thinking to know
why could i still possibly do it to you?
what could have been the matter?
i give you no answers to my own questions
because i cannot, or even if i can, because you cannot accept
this line, this kind of thinking
which is the reverse of everything
a counter-flow of the river
like the sea receding upon its shore
like the hair diminishing on your forehead
(how ugly could you be if i think so much harder
and try enough to destroy what is innately beautiful
to you? i cannot possibly resist
what is it that bothers me for all these years
it is too near and it is something that i have no power to touch
it is too beautiful but it is what they think can kill
because perhaps it is too sweet to me
how can you ever understand this?
i am thinking.
i am powerful and yet when you look at me without any meaning at all
as though i am just like any grass journeying on the sand
slowly and tenderly
and yet i am nothing at all but a wall,
a tiny shower of rain among the mountainous trails
i could have told you but i know i can't.
this is it. i shall hide again in the silence of my wishes.
you are mine, but i can never be yours.
i always have you in the arms of my dreams
but you shall never have me even my own shadow
you think i am nothing but the wind
and it is just that
i feel alright.

i am thinking and i am not destroyed.