I often found myself in a life sinced passed
as though of smoke under a dark bridge.
I word in a shout or a whisper would float about
in shallow currents or deep below that stolid solid surface
of ice or concrete sent screaming in a simple step.

But to overwhelm such a life since passed
with the simplicity of a slamming door
or perhaps to view through a telescope;
those fine details from the vividity of a bedroom window
on a clear night would send shivers down my spine.

Had I stood idly by in a spellbound daze
as the light passed by with a swift spin and flourish
and faded to a pitch black before my eye,
perhaps then would I have understood
the importance of that touch before loss.

Or maybe had I sprinted silently
through the sauntering street
with my arms outstretched
to catch nothing but empty
air, it only seemed appropriate.

Only then would
I fall to the floor
and sleep it
all away, at least
for a short time.

But then
again, how
would I
have survived
the night?

Only
in
my
past
life.