Solitude

In a room full of people,
in a country and a continent
a universe of voices and creatures
like a single blade of grass in a desert
a drop of snow or dew
that resisted the sun
a word in a line of poetry
that no one reads,
we are all alone,
and yet,
even as we don't belong,
we still own that which we love:
the tree that gives shade
the cloud formation that inspires poetry,
the love that we don't receive
and the presence that stays as memory or need,
however far it may have gone
however close it may not come.

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