The L Word (disconnected)

The wail echoes loneliness
(for loneliness is not my own
or yours--despite how deeply
in penetrates our souls).

Rivers carressing forgotten
banks of brown and green;
land is not the only thing
impossible to posses.


Society plays two of her tricks,
convincing us
ownership is ours
when
by it we are owned.

Waking from a nightmare,
the wistful notes of a
shehnai and tabla
dance like ferns
before shadows
conceal their
beauty.

I see you Loneliness,
darkness has not yet set in.
And I will not be owned.