Sometimes I wonder,
Should I wander?
Should I leave this world,
Should I become a ghost of my being?

Then I remember,
I already am a ghost.
My memories and feelings are existing too much
too little.  
I'm living,
not living.

The thought of loving

Brings me to you

Who I carry in my pocket

Like a needle

*** could be joyous

Or, anticlimactic   .