They look after 40 years, 6 months.
years I have traveled the world looking for what my soul refuses to see.
years I have mirrored through the rain, to find the leaves to welcome me like a carpet soft and delicate.
years in which I enclosed in a cocoon, for fear of looking out.
cocoon And that was shaped like human arms, his mother's arms, with the warmth that is not found elsewhere.
I tried to turn the blank with words not mine, that they knew of coral, fire red or black at dusk.
I painted rainbows, to cross the line between reality and dream and realize the handful of cardboard clouds.
The colors I saw were still among the iris and the pupil, in that no-place that recognizes the shadows and resides in the soul.
I left, to let go and build me.
Now, time has left me.
It seems to me a lifetime.
Now, I am not wanting to let go.
And to ask, to find.
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