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"I open the blank book
to fight with the future.

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Interminable ego, a martyr
who loves his wounds.

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How does one, when one is
more than one, trust the self?

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I mistook her hand for mine.

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Light inaccurately
painting boundaries.

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And he took the unwritten
missive from my eyes.

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There was a bus to
carry my image away.

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A fable to impress and forget.

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But what I wasn't was to remain.

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She hid among the teenager's
perfect and toothless

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certainties.

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See me so clearly that I'm not
here, I found myself saying,

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someone said."

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