There was a woman I loved 

in another country

this thought that haunts 

while doing laundry 

feeling I found 

Inside a recording 

us here right now 

doing nothing but worrying

I spend my weekends 

staring at the ceiling

making connections 

repairing dreams

and memories into 

intersecting designs

not many straight lines 

but sort of charming 

there was an indignation 

I never let go of

young faces 

I’m responsible to

a hope that remains elusive 

a breath of air 

on a breeze

somewhat unpolluted 

songs keep tumbling

out of this multiverse

without too much 

prodding from me



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