By Joseph Hesch
Living life alone,
even in the midst of a crowd,
a family, a love affair,
is not so different as the life
of a hermit.
I can be as solitary in those circumstances
as any Essene on the lam
in the mountains of the Holy Land.
But instead of hiding and meditating
in a shrub-shrouded cave,
I stare at you from behind
this living amusement park,
a charade of light, noise and motion,
keeping your world entertained,
at bay, by abruptly changing direction
and emotional altitude.
It works, even sometimes sending you
away from the show the worse for the climb,
like a heretic-hunter worn from the search
for my spiritual fore-bear.
My head, this cave of seclusion,
is where I ineveitably
pull back when I can't push away,
crouching in its darkest cutting crevices,
cold, relying on its dim light
for illumination enough to contemplate
why I would want or need to stay
hungry and naked like this.
Even more, I wonder
why you keep trying
to pry me out of here
when you don't really want meanyway.