reflection on a pond of bare, dark branches of trees
Phoebe
by JDA

Her head was filled with darkly mean things
and all the petty evil they bring
like half a being, partly shadow and partly, softly real
Blank-faced, empty-eyed in search of
a spiritual meal

Why the compassion for this terribly
lost one?
When a sensible person would turn,
moan quietly, and run

Did I write, “like half a being”?
And how would I notice that,
And all the other things as I sat?

You know don’t you? It was you and me I
was sorrowing for.
There is no her, just projections from a
lonesome mind…..No, it was her. And
she was more honest than I.

(image above used with permission – copyrighted anonymously)