heavy weights pulling                  your
                                                       ­      mind into dead end streets
                                                         ­    that once looked like happiness
illusions made to keep us moving
                                                          ­    false hope
patterns we like to contrive for comfort
             but comfort is only the brief graze of
                                                          your  ­hand
                         or the flutter of eyelashes
                                 that dance into my heart
                                           *like morning birds