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i know not where
to begin. the stares
are careless, the stars
couldn't care less,
and the world won't wait
(to spin),
while i catch my breath.

there is no space
in air to take the sky
for a ride in the water,
but i am still
enthralled by
opportunities afforded -
rapt
at each strange path
to be progressed.

we write backward ways
to overlay our inky feet,
these prints too deep to keep
receipt of old transgression.
of misplaced blessings.
of miracles abandoned,
now blooming
on the vine.

you are wrapped around
a finger of flowers
and colour speaks louder,
but by nature
every gesture
of your ghost-shape
is divine.