the leaves fall off the jacarandas and summer ends
between this one and last
i'm not quite sure if I recognise myself.
the passing of time passes me by
and i'm not quite sure at what point
I became not the same person
as the one who spends time making witches potions in the summer sun
with mud and lawn clippings and myself.
i'm not quite sure when i started put myself away
leaving sums of myself out
for days, weeks, years on end
for others to dust off and try out as they will
somehow the world tricked me into thinking
that i'm a bound note-book in a misused part of the library
with no words
waiting for someone to write me so I could come back to life
I momentarily forget that my hands can go in other peoples pockets
as i soak in the afternoon sun
when did I forget that i'm my own best friend
and other people, as bright as they are
are passing comets in my orbit
I never really needed anyone else
I could always play in the summer by myself