Point of Departure

He refers to himself in the third person, knows life with no margins or banks, nor tides, or mention of the day he departed. it was a day like no other. They waited a long time and thought about Venice, and the quiet stars, welcoming the will and words. Find a place to go, like a garden or some amazing place beyond any dispute, beyond confusion embraced, then look what we got, a black blot, screaming uncertainty. That point of departure; abandoning, squandering all the days and nights of drenched lost meaning. He hadn't belonged for decades, and still no one believed or understood, even the plain spoken, who could? That's what we're talking about.