She lies back and pictures
his hands on hers.

Beneath her skirt he moves.

His breath hot in her ear,
though he isn't really here,
She moves in a way
she knows would please him.

She sees him, she breathes him,
in her mind she can feel him.

On top of her, inside of her.
She gasps!

******* waves of emotion
rush forth, like the ocean
moving fast towards the shore.

Crashing in ecstasy, she prays,
come home to me.

allowing herself
to ride the waves of memory,
Until he returns to her.

He always returns to her.

A photo, a fragment of reality sent by my mother.
Just a piece of sky, one tree, and some ground,
a beautiful landscape with a hopeful, rising spring.
I am not there, but I feel a gentle wind,
carrying the scent of what is living.

On the tram ride,
I saw the damaged walls of the old house.
Some people still live there.
Are they disturbed or happier than I am?

Appearances can be so confusing and shallow.
Every perspective—another world.
The truth is scattered across small backgrounds.

Why do I feel amazed
that not every puzzle fits?

When I was returning home,
a young man sat next to me.
He started to talk about himself
and a series of unfortunate events.

He was looking at me
as if I was everything
while I was nothing more than a simple listener.

So, I got off, wishing him good luck,
knowing I wouldn't see that person again.
My life is overwhelmed by random encounters.

Now, I watch my memory of past situations.
I’m sifting through unclear interpretations,
wondering why I still dwell on symbols.

I wish I could believe
every circumstance was an opportunity,
a unique chance and not as things are today,
just casual happenstance
without coherence or deeper meaning.