I am looking for a place to return to.
I have no strength.

I find myself exposed, one skewed shadow
pulling roots beneath the sun.

Overnight I became wary of everything.
I remark at my own existence. That I could walk away from it.
As all colours part from me.

I open my mouth. I am full of willows and moth wings.
I look for words. I find the old ones and dig up
empty rooms.

I have become so simple.
My anger slouches in the corner like a rook.  Shuffling, always shuffling.
But he will not speak to me.

This is a living thing.
The paradox is a minor landscape.

No time believes in me.

I will say it again.
I woke this morning and found myself missing.