I'm wandering through other people's minds
   as if their thoughts were trees with lots of branches.
Some catch me by my clothes, wouldn't let me go,
    some go straight up
        without love or hatred
           or any other feeling -
             just like that,
               so nonchalant
                 and so unsympathetic.

I love them most, however,
   for there are
    still others
     dried up by
my negligence or pride...
   They look so helpless...

I cannot water them
  or take them back to life
for they will thirst for further care and time,
  which I can't give them
for I must be gone
   to Where I'm needed most
and most desired.


They should've never known my warmth or breath,
   would've been growing in their different ways
    in blissful unawareness of my spirits.


So, I can only pray...
  These dried up trees
will be like broken branches of my mind,
  regardless of the years I'll have lived.


  Forgive me,
the Great Gardener of Life...




Oct. 21, 1990