I have too much ingratitude for children
Too much dysfunction for marriage
It’s time to pour into my flute all
That I have left, the sum of shepherd-thoughts
Simplicity, of this life of neglect
According to its own rhythms
With the sustained voice of its own
Infinite exchange, dancing sums
I only have blank joys, to decorate my heart
Outlined ideals I would share with my friends
Imaginary beauty, lovely years left lonely
My suns will quickly run their course
Have their due, their little sport
Of wishing, and complete tender rounds
Of giving and secret fidelities
I own to much narcissism for family
With too much of a conscience for defeat
Toward all life embracing it from afar
The turbulent troubles between my inner shores
Are my last excuses saved for the future
A future where everyone is going to die
It suffices me to deepen, to endure
With vaster concerns than I am now capable
I am ashamed, since your departure
At the premature immaturity of my supplications
The light-fingered censure of my woe
To you, in whom I don’t confide, know this –
I have tasted the thirst that magnifies us.
Wuji Seshat 