Dusted

Smoke and mirrors. I see myself here, waiting for the sky to clear. I might have been waiting an age, so slowly does the sky change as dusk falls, so far does my mind wander out of time. This obscurity reminds me that I have forgotten too much. I have forgotten what I've forgotten. All the burning paths— or rather all that was not path but defined what was— is adrift, and conceals the moment's distance. It's as though there's nothing beyond this place but vague forms vanishing as night descends. I'm unsure how I got here. I realize for a moment how little attention I pay anymore. I dozed, and when the world began to burn I didn't even realize that I no longer recognized it. This place seems so small. But how do I find my way beyond it, now that the world is trackless ash?


( Sunday Verse )