Not-We

My fault. I sent you away.
My Not-We woman of the world,
Such dukkha* as I have brought you
I brought upon myself.

The dark places of the inside opened
When I dreamed alone of the future.
The route to the snake from the ladder
Opened up, I fell from the apple tree.

The wheel turns, we move on, you move away:
Changing patterns kaleidoscope in our lives,
Your turquoise is my midnight grey.
I am a man, I am every man. An idiot.

*Dukkha is an ancient Sanskrit term for suffering.