lying awake
trying to recall
all the people I’ve known
is a form of insanity
I’m sure
but keeps monsters
under the bed
held back
by myriad faces looming
in the dark—
family and friends,
schoolmates and co-workers
GIs and wayfaring strangers
met along the way—
no one speaks
they just well-up
like pages in a photo album
telling stories with no
narrative or dialogue
only reflections
of lives that touched
at one time or another
then faded into the night