I clubbed a mole to death—
Yesterday…
With a shovel…
We need a “save the moles” campaign
Against the likes of me
I’m sure this morning he got up and stretched
Rubbed his sightless eyes
And made plans…
He was about this plan
Clueless about the stalking.
Once I determined his predictable movements
Simply waiting for him to do the one thing
That directly preceded the other, was enough—
He died at the spot where he was headed
Just moments before
Lightness, darkness
Vivid charcoal and starkness
A boy and a girl
In a world that is parkless
Painted with pencil
With trees made of lead
There’s no grim reaper
Yet so still and so dead
Four million miles out
And nowhere—
This would be emptiness
If I were not here…
As it is
I believe it is loneliness
And therefore,
It is proven…
Emptiness and loneliness
Are not exactly the same
