Yearning Years

The hungry stray calls for empathy. I crouched to beg it to go away, lest I be the one calling.

A beautiful morning of consequence, sun moves with the clouds and we're gone. Part of me remain with the patch of light by my eye: squinting, body: shivering.

shut the door I'm cold

The desaturated longing of a time and place in the past. Fractions of fragile false memories hold me in my ghost limbs. No longer believing the tell-tale mysteries in the phantasms of my own making.