unfoundling

no one is looking
but everyone is hoping

we carefully turn each page
with the fragile expectation

of finding some reflection
of ourselves in another

and for some of us
this seems to happen;

to fall into a bone cradle
of fleshy narcissistic love

to map each other's soul
with a single hunted glimpse

to be so indulgent, blind to lust
open to unconditional synchronicity

for others this longing is betrayal
the game of coupling is beyond us

we are married to ourselves
we feel cheapened by the lovers

their quarrels and closeness
vulgar forms of entangled bliss
that will not come our way
into the waiting hours...

there must be some sacrificial secret
we have yet to learn or some vile karma
that keeps us from our own counterpart

dreaming tragic moments of a life lived so alone

makes one imagine the likelihood of final breaths

spent in the arms of a stranger only to discover

he was everything to another and you were

nothing to him:

circling high above the planet trapped and running out of oxygen
i folded myself into the embrace of that dying astronaut only to
gaze up into the face of my sister's first love...