Cold

I see a star. Or perhaps
it’s a piece of light
coming to me through
a pinprick hole in
black fabric. I don’t know
what’s real, what isn’t, what
is cosmic and what is prosaic.
All I know is I’m cold.

All I know is that I feel nothing
for a moment between
observation and reaction, between
the true thought and what
I choose to select for it
within my soul, my bag
of emotions.

I see a star or perhaps
it is something else,
a plane at night or some satellite
put there by a team of serious men.
There are ways of telling them apart
but I choose not to now, not
to tell right now what mystery this is
representing.
All I know is I’m still cold.

All I know is I’m still feeling nothing more
than confused and yet holding steady
between surety and cluelessness, in the gap,
not lost at all but certain in some way
of what I am — the only man alive
on this rock of mistakes that will
somehow resolve itself
if I just wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T