FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

here we are
trying hard to get an explanation about everything
to soothe pain, to discard what we think we do not after all need,
here we are looking for excuses,
looking for those tiny pores of exits,
looking for that secret passage of the mind,
the labyrinths of the heart,
here we are
emptying, looking for sparks of light,
in this dark cave
of our
human existence. The years are wilting.

There is no flower yet that has promised you a bloom
This imagined winter. This offing of spring.
This coldest autumn.
The seasons of the heart.
Unfolding.