Why is it, in brevity,
that beauty is found
as eyes gleam it so
but gleam in brevity
and images are lost

and why is it that
fleeting thoughts burn bright
but fleeting thoughts they are
and burn away they will
like pipe dreams

yet fever dreams last
and wet the wick
though some may argue
wet wicks burn brightest
and burnt wicks had their time

Why is it I argue to you?
who is it I argue to?
I know not my feelings of you
and not a true feeling felt
but confusion and unease

yet feel the need to argue
I do from time to time
the response is in the wind,
my health and my bread,
my wealth and my love

I listen and argue again
why did you say what you said?
why am I where I am?
and all I hear is the wind
the howling more like laughter