Recycling: August 8, 2006

Somewhere between midnight and daylight, visitors from my past drop by in their old skin and new clothes. They are no longer as I knew them but as I see them in my mind or as I wished them at one time. One a father, one a fighter, one faithful. We are joined by the snake with legs and rain that keeps us wet but fails to cleanse. We are abandoned by fear, embraced by curiosity. Down the stairs we run, opening doors along the way, hoping to find the missing pieces of our misery. I hear the buzz of early day and bid each adieu in that way that only I understand. They want to follow me, to watch me glide through my lost world of first kisses. I smile from the side of my mouth and offer my apologies to these mortal memories. They cannot walk where I walk, my steps have become too small.