Never can I be he or she or me
keeping up with all those somedays
projected like film into these fantasies
only a hologram and you cant touch-
the faded skipping record that warps these dreams.
Not here or now or then but never
open souls that light the way
Naked feet tread conflicting paths in wounded gardens
each story set in motion, pages torn in threes
a fable stitched like stars into a seam of sky
eyes that penetrate but only ghosts of these
burning mouth and bruising palms
Not lost or found or gone but here
colorful illusions cradled against the dark
trailing along after all those somedays
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