Status Updates From Almost Invisible: Poems

In the park where
he played as a child, dust-filled shafts of sunlight struck the tawny
leaves of trees and withered hedges...He sat on one of the benches and
explained to the woman next to him that he’d been away a long
time, then asked her what season had he come back to. She replied
that it was the only one left, the one they all had agreed on.

Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imagined
future, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love or a
passion so strong that one felt altered forever and convinced that
even the smallest particle of the surrounding world was charged
with a purpose of impossible grandeur...

There is no way to clear the haze in which we live, no way to know that we have undergone another day. The silent snow of thought melts before it has a chance to stick. Where we are is anyone's guess. The gates to nowhere multiply and the present is so far away, so deeply far away.