perhaps
you grace my world with soft words and warmth
a tiny light in the midst of a hurricane
or a blizzard that freezes my mind raw
shivering from the lack of anchored sea and
buffeted by the continuous waves, breaking self into smithereens on the taloned rocks
perhaps
the split ends in my hair are actually undercover friends, tiny reminders of what-needs -to-be
of molasses in my throat, coating my lungs and clinging to my breathing
like a shadow of a former life or long-lost friend
who time and haunted emails have not re-traced
perhaps
it's a moment of perplexity, of the out-of-place standing like a lamp-post in the street
sight choked by nostalgia

perhaps
his oblivion.