Something like a life

A certain casualness,
a particular drift
through one’s life
perfected over time.
The story’s flow old,
imperfect and foibled.

Who can say
when you first learned
how one meanders
mistaken through daze
regardless of plan?
A becoming self
unwinding threadlike
or unspooled
like discovery.

You watched the past
disappear, mirror-like
in someone else’s life
(or so it seemed).
Disparate and separate
from imagined will.
Dreaming–a touch
wished for like sun.

Nay, fear not the heat
of late desire
and acceptance of
others’ need for you.
The freedom and
self-knowledge of
one in two or
two as one.

Whatever new beginning
shall pass as memory
of closeness eludes–
an ever-changing shadow.
Ghosts of live
in-person presence
once mutual and shared,
tasted on the tongue.

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