A Companion On The Impossible... Poem by RIC BASTASA

on finished paths
i shy away, the stones there look the same
but no one is complaining
and all attempts to find new ones
seem to be nothing but a respect for
the trivial,

i am faced with forest trees
those that do not know how a man looks like
or how a woman tastes

all they know are the winds from the sea
and the clouds from across the islands of despair

i do not have a cutter on my hand
and i only have my fingers and tongue
i squat under the sun and begin my work
there is so much to cut and clean

been here for years and there is nothing much
that changed

the trees have grown so tall and cannot even see me
the grasses sheltered more snakes and have their party

i am alone with nothing but hope....

and then you come.