Unknowing

I am unknowing of your intentions
Clueless of your plans
Uncertain of your motivations
Unsure what's hiding in your hands

I am missing all your feelings
Naïve of your thoughts
Unconvinced of your next move
Oblivious to your fault

So share with me your secret adventure
Tell me your demands
Find in me your deepest pleasure
As time is running through our hands

I am unknowing of your intentions.

A sudden thought, really, of one of the few times in my life when I truly didn't mind being utterly confused about something or someone.

Moving

Searching inside myself
for an answer, for some light
to explain where and how
And why

leaning forward, but am I sincere
maybe it's all imaginary
I fear
That maybe it's all true

Knowing what I know, now I ask
yes or
No, it can't be
Can I keep this up

Searching inside
for something that might not be there
But it seems like a worthy cause
And, for the moment it keeps
Me moving.

Broad in a lot of ways. Still true, in many ways, too.

Disengaged

Tell me how you feel
And I’ll try and understand
It may not be easy
But life rarely is
And I get your feelings
My heart hears you
But my brain needs some time
To translate, to comprehend

You say things would be easier
Stuff would be simpler
If you were uninvolved
I hear you out, I see your point

Things would have been easier
If Marguerite were uninvolved
If she disengaged herself from her feelings
And left the world alone

And stuff would have been simpler
If Jeanne were uninvolved
If she escaped her silly visions
And laughed it all away

If only, I, too, could be uninvolved
If only, I, too, could be disengaged

One of the first poems I had written in Ottawa, about a boy still back home in West Virginia.