These people, these
beloved people;

maddening; otherworldly;
devoted to their crafts
and clueless endeavors
on behalf of unnamed
other people buried
in the fog of time and
rumor;

these people
come into my home
and space
and tug me unwilling
into battles and struggles
as if they needed to be told
not to bother with me;

these people peering through
the windows of my home
waiting for me to have some
profound moment, some
perfect thought to pass
through the window and into
their outthrust hands;

please, let me go
into the sun’s fire alone,
going as ordinary men do —

lying down when
my work, my subtle doing,
is finished.

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