Lost in the Thoughts

even though I have a Rothko and a Bald
Man, I sometimes feel a sad, a
ghost of myself

a white frame under a white
sky, waiting
only for white

even in not knowing, we know:
who we are, who
we have been

we might be
we might be

the crying is just
a release, like
the rain: it
does not make a death

TAGS: | |