Muddle Poem by Kenneth English

You spoke plain enough, whose eyes wouldn't see it,
Ungrasped persuasions pawed with pitiful tools,
Misgivings of mine, only excuses
For what was not passed between you and I.
Were I to step behind your eyes to see you
I'd find no more than half as less justice.
Here evermore synaptic nebulae flow 
Interwoven with time where the lowly
One even is preserved in remembrances.
Others so disinclined, absorbed as they rot
Replenishing cerebrospinal fluid.
Still as I come again into me
I understand no more than before,
My fluency wanting rough guidance
And still my minds in all different directions.
I smile, content I trust in your certainty.