what comes from the pen but sorrow
swimming in hope, from the mind’s world
what will not become real runs in paces
through the imagination.
i dreamt in days of sunlight, tracing hands
piecing through my body’s landscape
to find me again present in your eyes is to find life.
in this world all is imagined
even what we see outside of our eyes.
so let it be parallel in separation and touch
until we run in circles to find the center.