Heavy burden he carries as he sits between the carcasses of trees.
His mind sips from the thoughts that drift in the containers of the universe.
From the home of his bench he seeks
while his hands clasp across his chest.
He maps the shape of the world that many feet have paved.
He feels his body grown weak from the burden of his mind,
a ripe wine filled with wisdom ready to deliquesce at any time.
He watches the streets and their ants from his perch.
He watches them build homes,
each man hauling his pulsing heart like a staircase and its creaks.
He listens as the women call their pink, turgid children home,
each child a fierce strength, ready to embrace.
They drag their feet as streaks of gold turn to amber in the sky.
Evening has entered and so goes the labor.
All day and he finally speaks out to an eager apprentice,
“Today each man woke searching for a horizon,
while I have arrived at mine. Life is a bride.”
And while he turned to muse in the light of windows
and the leaves of browning books,
his had eloped with time.