At a peculiar point, not yet halfway between conception and death.
That I am reborn.
I am alive, slowly beginning to breathe
It’s breaking autumn, not the time for loneliness.
Dreams have taken their toll, demanding actualization or obscurity.
Days to nights are dream songs whose end shall be despised mediocrity
Or a place beyond the sun-moon.
And I am a child complex, whose life holds nature’s simple directive,
Changes come, to become–and more I see the me that wanted expression, expansion.
The early morning damp, blue-black sky cut with glass and stars.
Even in the darkest edges, there is light filtering, from reality to stargazing voyages,
a long time coming
But at last I have begun…