4:39 AM at the Embarcadero

i contemplate the entire horizon within a lack of passion
realizing the segments that my eyes do consume cannot dare relate
to other frames of vision that have yet to consume me

human forbearance stand infinitesimal to the depths of our mother,
whom gaffs at our insecurity, our ineptness to become that which we are,
by serving as tempest to our tests of our own competence

such buildings with a million windowed eyes cannot see horizons
but can give harbored care to the procession of wealth and power
that swoons in delight yet sways in dismay with a wain that yearns in a damsel's distress-

everyone but a part of parts that disparage parts
in the desperate quest to be whole, but our horizons,
the look-sees we are warranted on january firsts

in big cities that suburb boys such as myself
could never realize to be so quiet, are just quaint distant illusions
deceptively looking so complete

but i know better