how do we find
in the eyes of another
the validation sought
thru our own misgivings

what then when
what was given
takes more
than was allowed

do the weeping eyes
in the puddle before them
understand this poem

or are they writing
one of their own

such lines
with difficulty
are drawn
yet must be
nonetheless

howling vespers
of intuition
are not ironies
but truths
not entirely
indecipherable , only
riddled with paradox
in discord with reason

only the Mingus horns
illustrate these forlorn longings
in strokes of genius

a perfect poem
without the awkwardness
of words