Broken

There is an orphanage in my heart
where unrequited lovers live
and I tend to their wounds
which do not heal like
Prometheus each
morning gutted
by vultures
the ocean
with its
salty water
is the repository
of all the tears humanity
has ever cried…who can mend
our broken heart, our eviction from
the garden; I look for Eve in the eyes
of every woman who passes by but I might
as well be invisible as I’m no longer turning any
heads and even the wisdom of age is questionable
since grumpy old men have forgotten how to just have fun
and the only eyes that meet my longing gaze are the blinkless
lidless eyes of the serpent whose cunning wisdom soon overtakes
all in its path; like by Medusa I am turned to stone for daring to look