Sometimes All I Do Is Watch Poem by RIC BASTASA

i know it is getting
serious
as it sounds like a
walk at dawn
down the boulevard
where the sea keeps
a sonorous resounding
of its waves and
hushes on the sand
until it reaches the
wall of division
about this is you and
this is me.

it is this feeling of
being alone again which
i have already understood
as part of the sole of
my own shoes
as part of the heel
where my toe connects
through a cartilage
and a bone.

i told you once
there should be no attachment
to a bed or to a wall
to a pillow or
this blanket
to a picture and its
black and white color.

the only reality we have
is this
this time, this moment
this present
beyond it is another wish
another ought to be another
kind of imagination
which of course does not
help us
live for another time.

i have this flower
in my hand and i am giving it to you

you know it
you know its fate
being disconnected
it wilts
it dies
and we who know it too well
like a palm in our hand
cannot weep.

it is like this
when i see you it is just that
if you touch me
it is just that
and when you leave again
what more value can i give to it?

the winds are teachers
the breeze makes the notes of my presence
time passes
mind you, i have learned much
my head is full
and i am not bringing any lesson at all.

whatever comes, comes.
whatever dies, dies
whatever is gone, goes.

sometimes all i do is watch
and it is more fulfilling because
it is most real.