subtext

If I could force the river

from its course and drive

away tears’ inevitable

flood back into the sea;

if I could change the pattern

of the wheeling stars

reconnect the diverse

constellations of my life,

then would satisfaction weave

itself about me like a spiders’

cocoon to be packed away for later ;

then would I be content to swing

like a hammock back and forth

sleepy beneath the waning moon?