Remnants

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This is my own tragedy
This telepresence, of sorts
I, loving you

Self-created, for my imagination is that of a girl reading far too many fanciful tales of interplanetary affection and of camel-led caravans of the Orient
The dust of this all still surrounds me

Something I alone permit
Against God’s will,
I believe in you

Stroke After Stroke

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Sometime just sit and brush your hair

And stare

Off at nowhere

From the cool shadows or brightest sunlight 

Stroke after slow stroke, comb through the thoughts

Causing wonder or stress or no care at all

There. Calm yourself 

Heal yourself

Lay your soul bare