The restoration

The herald comes
fasting
heightened
aware
the taut acetic soul
vibrating at an insensate pitch
Winnie the Pooh comes.

What else could be expected
if not a baggy awkward creature
an avatar maligned
irked and hampered?

The world must have its cloisters
for the restoration of equilibrium
willing or no:
fallow lives apart.

Beauty and sadness
are the essence of existence.
Someday it will be my turn
to pay for callousness
and grieve for a millennium
that I did not see it then.