The Year

How can so much beauty
elicit such deep sadness

I speak here of music

Why are the memories
brought back instantaneously
when the notes begin
and which I once cherished
now playing as empty

and worse

that world is gone
but perhaps it was
wasted on me

when will I know
what the hell I'm doing

I keep asking

probably never

someone find that girl
who gave me readings
with the tarot
in the wee hours
in the dorm at university

that itself yet another
melancholy recollection
though the sound of her laughter
still brings a smile

the wheel of fortune
the chariot
the three of cups
death

so many possibilities
in the palm of your hand

fate resting
on the flick of your wrist

if I could ask her
which card
best describes me
without hesitation
she would smile
and say, "the fool."

And I would nod
in agreement.

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