Out Here
Loneliness is the poverty of self;
solitude is the richness of self.
— May Sarton
You ask if I am lonely
on this dead-end road
where a feral cat prowls fields
and the electric wind screams
like a spirit trapped
between this world and the next.
I tell you, loneliness is not fatal.
Longing is more dangerous.
Heat from the wood stove
never reaches the back bedroom
where I lie wrapped in shadows
from a lone apple tree.
I have learned to bank the ashes,
keep the coals alive all night.
Solitude soothes the loneliness
but the she-cat cries
for relief, alone
with her longings.
I fear one night I will stray
from the house naked and follow her
into the darkness.