You should not imagine that
he’s ever doing nothing. If you find him
thrown across the sofa, head
propped blankly on a hand and eyes
fixed on the sightless distance,
don’t ask: he’s occupied.
You may imagine that he’s lost
in a desert without words,
a waste with no horizon
for the sun to climb. Life is a great jigsaw:
maybe he’s lost a piece
and needs to work on where it dropped.
Or love is a well
down which he may have thrown
his last penny and is breathless
waiting for the splash. Or fortune
has an eye the size of the world
and he could be, he could just be
staring into the eye of fortune
trying not to blink.
© John Stuart