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


and the soft nothing

beyond the halo

of candlelight;

I envy the sleeping

flowers before


and the misty depths

of the winter forest,

I envy the silence

of twilight,

and the silence


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,


cause, struggle

or purpose,

smiling gently

at the corner of the road,

watching the dust motes


and light up in the mid-morning


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


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



One thought on “I Envy

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