We reconnect through wireless means –
no strings attached, just memories
like wisps of smoke we can’t inhale
without a self-accusing stare.
Like ghosts, we shuffle wall to wall
and watch as life unfolds somewhere,
where we could be, on different paths,
some roads less traveled, others not.
We fondly look in retrospect
at days long gone, and former lives;
our innocence, perhaps, our joy –
some part of us we think now lost.
It’s just illusion that we weave,
this semblance of the village square
that in an instant may be gone.
It’s really just us, standing there.
And what do we have left say?
Not much. We share our politics,
or random thoughts about the world
that make us feel as if we care
beyond this circle in the dust
of wild electrons spinning ’round
that gives us substance in this mist
and makes us seem alive again.
26 AUG 2009
