Broken Sunlight

Hours upon hours

I scan the world

through page after page

from a bundle of pipes

with leaky connections

I seek photos to thrill

or to inspire me

as I pretend I am Subhramanya

the second son of Shiva

I have to be someone

Here, I am in a park

full of broken

unrealized

or soon to be achieved

dreams

thumbing through page

after page of photos

as if I once

posed for a snake

near a soldier's grave

and want to find the negative

in a dead forest

Suddenly I know why

I am alone at this age

I was always curious

and with somebody else

in my life

I get confused about myself

a marble statue dreaming

of paper arms and legs

and about them always them

Age creates its own prism

from which some see

more than one color

for me

it's needy red

shifty red

tearful red

a genuine color

whose variations escape

the only light I see

Does Daddy Shiva approve?

Barry G. Wick