i lie in the
grass, and doze, and dream
of things of past,
of things forseen,
of things of peace, of things of pain.
i sleep in the
sun to heal.
Slowly the
shadows cool do creep
across my foot, across my hand,
and i am called to
waking-land.
i stir, and shift, and wake.
i slowly sit, awash in pain,
in turbulance that wracks my brain,
i slowly sit, and
see...
a hand, a foot, an arm, a knee,
imprint of
that which is me,
in the grass,
a human form,
...where there should be two.
i miss you...