Vanity

Vanity
strokes his hand and sighs
of nothing
attrition of the mind

my temporal mind
and loving
she loses him in the
night

Vanity
beside the stone seated chapel
waits in watching
the water garden pond
how deep

and deep her eyes
cold and black
an autumn day
and water

Vanity
my self-alone temptress
watching, a cow-eyed boy
of ash and wood
crying

outward man
rise in smoky stillness
His love is bony hands
cold and clean the fingers
crack and yawning space
between

Vanity
too late, unknown

Vanity
a man slanted
shirtless in the afterglow
writing love songs
to J. Alfred Prufrock

and sighing vanity