Floating as a phantom, thin as air
Between the sediment of solid earth
I wonder if it’s there.
Laughing in a corner, woven in my mirth,
Mixed as a funhouse mirror made to talk—
I wonder what it’s worth.
I’ve known the faces drawn in chalk,
Written in memories decayed
In words I wonder as I walk.
The earth seems spare, the cities carved in blades—
The streets are empty, the cars sit still—
As I wonder how I’ve strayed.
Where has the old hand left its guiding will?
Wrinkled by the lanes that leave us—
To whom, I wonder, will I kneel?
At the break of dawn, where early light deceives us,
Arriving at the birth, where time began—
Are these the old souls that grieve us?
She is scattered there within the sand
Where I see glimpses of reflected glare,
The hints of an outstretched hand.
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