Endless minutes of the present
On the eve of my eulogy to Spring
I confess the white silence
Bathes me in its engaged purity
I am a bud of a soul like a leaf
In time, with me till the end
Of all age and breath and lyrical insight
I do not deserve the light of Summer
Let others save themselves in rapture
I will drown in dead silence
Until there is nothing left of song
And all the poets that were part
Of my underlying thirst and condition
Will be unread like grains of sand
That were once diamonds of my consciousness
And so the Earth takes back
All of us each to our rest
I am humble to the facts of life
If I did not see much of you again
It was not that I did not think of you
Only I was embarrassed by the
Blueness of heavenly stuff I had become
And nothing much, in the material world
Seared by something of your likeness
I had become used to darkness & solitude.
Wuji Seshat 
Heart wrenchingly warm and beautiful
Thanks Heather, I often feel like that, must be the poet’s brain.