Loneliness

Loneliness sits beside me 

on my porch steps

in the cool of the evening,

a quiet presence at my right hand.

As I watch the sun set

behind the black-branched oaks

and the swallows swoop and dive

against the western sky,

I feel him take my hand

with quiet intimacy.

At night, he sleeps beside me.

When I wake,

I feel him cold and heavy and there,

a weight. The moon makes him look

bigger and blacker and larger than life.

Please go away! I plead with him.

But I don't have any authority over Loneliness.

He comes and goes as he pleases.

Someone once told me that

feelings must be welcomed as friends

for as long as they stay, and cared for

until they leave on their own.

So I tend to Loneliness and listen to it,

and try to treat it as a messenger of God.

Perhaps if I can find meaning in this loneliness,

I will not be afraid of it anymore,

and I will become wise, 

like a quiet-faced sage, 

instead of a bewildered

teary-eyed sobbing wretch.

Oh, I hope so.