did the wind ever catch you sleeping?
alone like a cordless phone off the hook, where's the charge
beyond the imaginings of the long-haired girl standing in the open rain wondering, wondering, wondering
what?

wondering if it was true
if it was true that the cold of a cozy bed in the middle of a warm December night was anymore than a dream
or if the person she spoke to was a figment of her imagination
because human is a hoax, each from the same source like every fallen leaf floats from the same tree
so would that not mean that the entire universe is just
one
great
big
schizophrenia?

or, is it the happy clutches of a child in want of your embrace that reminds you of the sad clutches of a child in want of your embrace?

because the sun doesn't go down, it goes around
and the moon isn't half, nor the stars just a spec
nor a grain of sand just a grain of sand because a cosmos is a cosmos no matter how large
small
or mildly tasted like a long-shot espresso will never taste a tongue

can the words ever really tell you much more than the words?

if a cosmos is a cosmos, the words will tell you the cosmos
the cosmos, the very essence of the sweet silk and the clammy touch of a lover after a rainy winter walk
the warming of the lips upon lips
or the clamp of the seven AM alarm
a great big '*******' to many, a reminder to 'wake up and love' for the lucky

and the wind; the dastardly, beautiful, realist wind!
where was I when you always arrive?

so I'm asking you
look inside of yourself and think:
did the wind ever catch you sleeping?