*

What a paradox this life is:

The further I go the less I know.

The dross that spring's spider spun

like a young lover spinning his first untutored web

is now but gray and falls away.

The cold stars unable to stay in the heavens

turn melancholy and fall in their life's labors

lost of late.

The further I go the less I know.

The overripe fruit of summer falls

uneaten to the ground

The flashing eyes of Spring

and the lust of heady Summer

are but memories.

Afternoons of bright bodies

flashing among the green

are but dreams that never once came to fruition.

And are now but fish stories told by old men

of unrequited love and beauty unattained.

the further I go, the less I know.

Another star falls from heaven.

*