Looking and wondering 
laying here thinking 
sighing slowly smiling 
touching softly kissing 
recalling and laughing 
missing longing yearning 
these early morning 
hours belong to 
the ings that 
we all do 

The piano drifts 
just like snow 
it gathers slowly 
becoming a mountain 
like a rumor 
it teases seduces
envelopes and chills 
and like warm 
kisses that water 
lovers and their 
desire making them 
blossom and bloom
until the end 
like when winds
of Autumn blow 
they sweep away 

I write the voices 
of the ancients and 
of the unknown who 
speak to me of
such things that no 
one can understand of
things and of places 
of people and of
thoughts long ago forgotten 
I live amongst ghosts 
who sit quietly awaiting 
their turn to return 
to their own once 
again and then perhaps 
they will go away 
making room for more 

The lights stretch
and then stop 
at the edge 
of the world 
in this darkness 
anyway back east 
they do continue 
like the wildfires 
of the living 
but here now 
and out there 
west and beyond 
are the dead 

I have become 
already having became
that I sit
and wonder now 
if it was 
any of it
any of it 
ever really was 
is this pause
the very thing 
I’ve been awaiting 
just an ellipse 
perhaps an eclipse 
a passing by
of one thing
in front another