I cannot recall so distinctly,
though the grandiose sheen of a waking dream
seemed to me leveled in finite degrees of clarity,
what your eyes held, or your hands afforded-
like windows to the deliberate wind of wanting
The pains I've gone through are glazed
with the spiderweb frost of your diffidence

I look to my palms, and find them smaller
than the world I had hoped for, and while more
than the belittlement of personal valors, of humility
and hunger selflessly imposed, they are yet too scarce
to spin a minute representation of the global trends
which transcends to finer philanthropic ends

My momentum has been spent, for, as tears of lament
soon falter and are broken in the pursuit of freedom
by the unyeilding ends of soil and sand, so to does my soul
find the perpetual happenstance of inspiration a chock farce
for which my rationalization finds no defence