The scar on my leg is the past embedded in my present. 

The poem on my tongue is a litany, a hope that our stories make sense in this sky.

The sleep in my eyelids is a cousin of gravity, a separate but related serious force.

The words in my handwriting are unrecognizable; the pen in my hand is envisaged. 

The notes in the singing bowl are hummed by passing vehicles.

The dream in my head is living without you.

Today is the day I teetered on the edge.

Today is the day I forgot to mourn summer and realised that expiration date had passed.

Today is the day I wish I could swim out and out and out and further out.

Today is the day I breathe.

Today is the day I breathe in.

Today is the day I breathe deeper.

Today is the day nothing seemed more important than anything else. 

Today is the day everything seemed important.

Today is the day I knew... what?

photo: 'My Angel and My Devil' by Thomas Hawk

You never let me in

and yet your melody haunts me on the nights

when I am least able to sleep.

If someone were observing

would they see both of us,

apart, elusive,

distinguishable?

Or does everyone assume

we are the silhouetted outlines

of drunken doubles?

We are passable as twins

or even as the same person.

But I do not know you well,

and you do not know me 

at all.

Stay here, all the same.

Keep me company.

There is warmth in even 

the ghostliest flesh.

You do not let me in.