Poetry

Do you know the pain 
of somebody on the road, 
freezing alone? In Asperger syndrome? 
 
You do not want to talk 
about the forest of words; - 
though a small window opens 
to the hazy mountain in dense fog. 
 
The shadow lengthens, 
when you stand against the sun. 
a stupid thing, being a 
proud owner of an evening moon. 
 
Where does the small island 
of narration lead you? A 
temple of nobody's god? 
I am frightened now.