Silent Friend of Many Distances

The problem with an orange tree in Greece
whose perfume fills the straights between Poros
and Kimon’s Peloponessos is the peace
of beauty radiating always close,
which never can respond but does its part,
issuing hope to make me live. It makes
it come from me. The problem with the heart,
a tool of time, is want can never speak.
The problem with the brain is darkness. It
has no self-lamp or sun to give it place.
Silent friend in heaven, the problem is
I love you, and, like every love, far space
creates intensity yet it rains spit
on us. I am an outrage until you rise.

-Willis Barnstone