which led from nowhere into nothing
Hot afternoons melting into the ground
Beneath our feet and with them, any sense
Of sticking to one or even many, maybe.
What was clear was the sky above us
But then, who cared for clouds that
Had no shadows, no rain, nothing to show
That they are alive and aren't just ghosts
Conjured up by past memories of betrayal
That word which throbs at the heart of
All heartaches that ever were born
on this planet. Mine, anyway. Maybe.
Blue birds and bears from a faraway forest
Orange stemmed ephemeral white flowers
None of which had any name, no sound that
Is ever heard by those of us who live
Half-immersed in an unending mist of
What-if-we-had- met-twenty-years-ago. Maybe.
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