lean over the edge
into a pool of pungent wistfulness
on the other side of a memory
scrawled over crumpled pages
or in the depths of a silent tear
reaching out for lost history
falling gold and hushed wafts of jasmine
rising notes of the promised tomorrow
stitching together the divide

i wonder if they know the mystery
a conundrum of molten sentiments
an enigma of misheard or broken statements
a solitary piece of bone china, shattered on the ground

how did it happen?

that's what she asked herself in the haze
of phantoms choking her with lingering
smoky fingers of regrets and unspoken words
suffocating that tiny part of
her unscathed technicolor imagination

you know

the part that hasn't been sabotaged by visions of dramatic and morbid situations
that drip with the inky blood of the lost or escaped prisoners of old time ideas and essays
the state of the free and softly molded sparks
that dance in bright fields of constellations and galaxies
nebulas of true hope and joy
floating in a void of fear soaked thoughts