Leaving

In the ragtime of the mind

Will you or I be left behind?

You will ask a question,

And how will I surround it?

Like some hostile primitive

And dance and terrorize with shouts

And childlike derision,

Or simply lurk around it in embarrassed indecision?

If I had posed the question first,

How would you respond? Or worse,

Would you answer me at all?

Like trees in poorly planted arbors,

We both compete for distant light…

Roots entangled, fight for water.

And neither you or I can grow

So, it is time for me to go.

-Bill Schubart 1993