The Invisible Forest
but don't we all think about it
when shadows grow long---those lost chances
fluttering away like wild molting birds
into somebody else's sunrise?
That kiss not taken.
No longer offered, either.
That one last arch of the back
before sighing, 'No more, this night'.
I have entered the Invisible Forest.
Flowers, men turn their eyes towards
the sunshine of taut bodies, pert breasts.
The Fountain of Youth gurgles just
over the rise and stampeding feet
trample past for one final gulp.
All around me the bulls are dying, but
why weep for what can't be undone?
My face is flushed, my hands empty.
Prufrock loans me his peach.
Art: Self Portrait Three by Pris Campbell
to Poetry Index II
Return to Home Page