Where is my peace?
And where is my tranquility?
I no longer find it here.
The first time I hear monsters beyond the tree line
Trying to disguise their movements with the rustling of fallen leaves.
But I hear them- monsters, timid.
The geese are at the marsh, cackling to one another
catching up after this last long stretch
I hear one fly away from the rest, despondent
What happened to that one goose?
Smells pound against my nerves- clothes detergent, manure, my own skin.
Scent always was my greatest weakness.
Not even these hills can calm me now
I see them, flirts with veils of mist
Rolling repetitively against the dull atmosphere.
Where is your comfort, where is your passion and your flaming tresses?
I ask the moon for punishment and she gives me none
Only that gentle smile that says
When I am dead and lying on her breast
Then will I be at peace.
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