A sickness in my inner garden

Becoming symptomatic

It is not the sun that greets me
The stars do
The cat too, hungry
feed me


A sickness in my inner garden
has reached the tips of my fingers
become a lingering taste on my lips


I greet the dawn,
Looking at her I worry
she'll become day
before I become clear


Spelunking in the vastness
meeting memory
knocking on the inner vaults of my mind
Feeling now what I felt when I built them


A grand show of re-creation
A re-enactment! Fantastic!


An opportunity