More Poetry Outtakes

Manic

He is always somewhere else,
but he keeps it a secret.

He’s like a man
reeling in a big fish

when he has a new idea.
A marble saint springing to life,

egged on by a whipping wind,
by an inexhaustible tide,

till it all falls in on itself,
scattering the cards,

opening an absence.
There is no cure for the sadness.