I have found myself beneath
Rocks turned up away from me,
And
I have found myself behind the door
             home alone
And
I have found myself beneath unfolded
Laundry in the basket,
             eyes squinted, keeping warm.

I have found myself in smaller forms -

Between book covers,
A grey dust exhumes at the turn of
             each its leaves,
Just as I have nestled away
             former inspirations -
Now as I
Open them up the
Fine powder fills my eyes, a dreamy
Lense reveals the dark skyward chasm
And its endless fires.

If only I knew how to reach them,
My old flames and I could reminisce
And I could
Close and put away all the stories
I never finished.