Lost

Through the coolness of desert mornings,
whisperings of the previous evening's frustration
and the world that results and the time now: suspended
in glass with little to say for it except
that is what it was.

I break into the new day with desire
and the continuity of past errors and faults:
onward into the new human: Neitzsche.

Because I was less than human then, watching suffering,
less than what I could be. I was lost in my self,
unable to move into action, unable to disentangle
the hold of the past and the frail picture of a man,
forever lost, unable to move, stupid with relief at the end,
that I escaped without action.

and I can never be the same for it.