the present, now absent, sent away,
by the flickering change of a mere sentence,
becoming a thing of the past & the future.
now, with no one to know, & nowhere to be,
when we sail the cold skies in our minds,
when we blankly walk our dreams,
never quite fully knowing the lives we lived
the same way we never quite know the end,
just that it happens, & that it by definition remains hidden,
we become more like ourselves,
in the same vein that the reflection in the window
becomes clearer in darkness,
closed eyes & open dreams reveal who we are,
carrying projections of us away into the cold sky
where lost winds howl & cry,
calling a name we know better than to answer to,
since they call for something else, something long gone

in the tranquility of dead silence, in the air & the blurring, vanishing landscapes which past by,
the racing by of lives long planted whose roots stretch far beyond their branches,
we hasten our strides by sour fruit only to leave ripeness in our wake
& leave ourselves in hopes of finding someone new, within, & doomed to be without.
hollow, we search the grey, grey, world, for its secrets,
hopeless, never to find them
with our eyes open