I Envy

I envy the wake

of the nightingale’s flight,

the dark black

between two stars;

I envy the night

when there is no

moon,

and the soft nothing

beyond the halo

of candlelight;

I envy the sleeping

flowers before

dawn

and the misty depths

of the winter forest,

I envy the silence

of twilight,

and the silence

between

the notes of a song;

I envy the still moment

where something once was

and something will be again,

the white of paper

beneath words,

I envy the warmth

of the sunlight

on my closed lids;

the endless being

of the blind,

the deaf,

and the dumb;

I envy the man

without name

or birthplace,

without

cause, struggle

or purpose,

smiling gently

at the corner of the road,

watching the dust motes

float

and light up in the mid-morning

sun;

I envy the nameless and the faceless,

gone in the surge of the crowd,

barely existing,

in formless flux-

I envy the treasure

of nothingness,

of gentle anonymity,

of being, as though

you never were

you never came

you never went-

I envy

the wealth of

timelessness

and placelessness,

I envy

the hidden spaces

between the petals

of a rose,

fragrant and fleeting

and meaningless,

Above all,

so desperately

I envy the dust I come from,

and the dust

where I shall

return.

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