The poems have already left my lips
And dribbled onto the sour pages of life
Like so many forgotten dreams
They seep into my porous soul
Permeating me with still, starry light
Like the slow remembrance of forgotten fetters
And in the desperate moment between sleeping and waking
I flutter and dance with the shadows of myself
Calling, singing, caressing, destroying them
Because I can be a shadow no longer,
Not while there is the possibility of myself
Somewhere under the soft, blanketed past,
A dim and pure question hovering in the spaces between thoughts
Waiting as the seed waits,
Quietly, patiently, and quivering with life
(b-day 12:00am)