return to lines (em)

she speaks
before I know
where she is
I've heard them say
camped outside my window
wearing clothes
I put away

knows of things
before and always
ancient thought returns to lines
changes here
but who would notice
what was hers
and what was mine

dare I wonder
to the reasons
am I crazy (am I cursed)
was it me
her choice for dreaming
bound to this
immortal verse

turned a page
I thought was empty
filled with longing
(nothing new)
spirit comes in block
and cursive
rhyming leaves
a sweet perfume

across the way
from then to now
denied the rules we know
of time
another day
I'll hear her whisper
with voice the same
as mine



mine