The Finality Of Solitude Poem by RIC BASTASA

I, too, commit the same
mistake. I fear being alone
as though i was born with
you from my mother's
womb

as though i was conceived
in the the pronoun We

as though the crib was a
market with lots of people
roaming in there

we are not us. I am i. And
will always be in its solo flight
from what i am to what i will be.

For the meantime, there is
this marketplace, this mall,
this house, this home, but
at the end, there is always
this silence, that of a leaf
and the pond without a
single ripple....then a hush.