now i am as sad as when i had been a very young man,
though now this sadness is thicker and heavier by too much
experience of loss.
it is not without a way out, maybe.
but yes, i am in a deep well, and i cannot say that i should welcome
a visitor. in my drowning and fear i may grab her and pull her down
and under. she would have to hold me ever so lightly and
show me that she is prepared to stay with me
quietly until i find the courage to climb out by myself.
yes, i had a dream, i waded out in flat warm water, a lonely beach,
and far out with fishes around my legs i shot my head off.
but no, i am not yet there.
still, i can wait, rest, recover, then climb.
or jump, up.
with the night truth arrived in all its cruel clearness, with its salty taste of tears
and blinding bitterness.
it came with its own beauty, blackness falling softly like snowflakes,
and now i will have to wait for the morning, my
morning, when i can shine my lost light through the clouds.
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