Unspeakable generous acts

I

Despite what you may
have heard, or perhaps deduced,
I am not St. John of the Cross.

I am moving through
Providence Place and
wistful for this world
in its many forms.

I am longing to screen-print.

II

Don’t you miss that routine of
near touching?

My god,
you ate lunch
and I changed my path just

to be closer to you,
to know you,
to appraise or
take audit of you –

I heard some of the ‘young
chums’ were in this evening.
In that instant I despised you.

III

It is your gathered,
templar tongue I take the
time to hear – it is often
more bold than not.

There is too much to see
and do, so
I am sick with instances.