What Doesn’t Excite

What Doesn’t Excite

​I remember when the newness was lost.
Even the sun is old for God
but for a short few years
and two decades more,
light was new for me.

I remember the loss
of glimmer and shine.
The tarnish and grey
set in with a second
buzz of a hummingbird’s wing.

I knew then as I know still:
I have seen enough of the universe
to never feel surprise again.

I have seen the good body
corrupted to do bad work
& I have heard the redundant
repetition of a fugue.
I have tasted peanuts
and have touched thorns.
I have smelled the eucalyptus
fresh from falling.

I have sensed enough of the universe
to want to know it should have never been.

My senses are worn thin
by similarity;
my mind bores itself
with habit.

I have nothing left to find
in this world
and
I am weary for the surrender
from seeking.

Though I sense on,
I have an restless intuition,
unyielding, unrelenting, unsatisfied,
that what remains unfound
is better than all I have sensed.