Hiatus

This poem almost didn’t happen,
had instinct trumped
necessity
and everything else was left in a
holding pattern that
never finds the runway…

nature does this best:
trees and bushes and grass and bears squirrels and…
well,
Nature, she
arrogantly displays a
lacuna that refuses to fulfill itself again
until the winter thaws out,
the groundhog sees it shadow
and she’s damn well ready.

(no wonder it’s Mother nature)

but love?
the heart?
nothing doing;
not a chance even though
fools decieve themselves into believing
that any of this
is a simple matter of our choosing;
that feelings turn on and off
at the spigot
that the mind has any say at all

love tortures the mind;
and the heart,
no matter how empty it is left,
never ceases it’s struggle
even for a moment.