Things. With names.
Eyes. Seen through another's.
Dots. Splashed into patterns.
Dusty jeans. Tattered soles.
Voices hopscotching in space. Drafted into memory.
Years broken down into moments. Like rusty fences by a vanishing roadside.
Carved spaces. Elegant absurdities.
Fouettes for an epiphany.
A montage. Words.
An inaudible sigh.
I'm not here. I never was.
