There are moments when the world spins slow;
My eyes droop, as if to lead my head,
And the most involving things
Seem distant instead.
I’m here, but I’m not
For part of me is removed.
Where it is, in time or in space,
I can’t begin to tell you.
Perhaps part of me leaves
To some intangible land.
My spirit learns what it needs,
Then returns to its host, the man.
Or perhaps, the mind can’t help but take a rest
Not afforded by dream or reverie.
So it escapes the world and its mess
To a nothingness far more clean.
Or, it could be for no reason at all
That I seem to lose half of my soul.
All I gain from it
Is appreciation of when I am whole.