We are Birds

How does one person amorously meet
another? I realize the phenomenon is
a relatively straightforward one, but it's
been so many years since I found myself
wrapped up in it I can't even remember
what it was like. I have no hope it could
ever return again, the life of loving
a woman. I sit in coffee shops and bars
wondering why, after two decades,
my soul mate, the woman of my dreams,
has yet suddenly to appear, as if brought
to me by a magical wind. I wonder why
my dreams have yet to make it clear what
sort of woman is the woman of my dreams.
I sit and don't face the fact that I'm a
fool in countless ways, especially still for
being hopeful. I sit and wonder if
I have the right look on my face for
falling in love, if a person who can't hold
a regular job could ever meet a woman
of substance, if I smell bad. Really, I
wonder if I give off this certain scent
which repels both women and men.
Like any animal who marks his
territory or places odorous warnings
to stay away. In fact, I know I'm
a bird; I know that we are birds.
We flutter around each other in
circles, always in flight, rarely setting
down, only ever briefly staying,
rarely touching. We are birds;
some of us find a flock and keep it.
Others lose our way and stay lost,
forever set apart by our natures.
I am a bird; we are birds.
I am one who lost his way.

(2007)