like the flat
relationships
of these lines
to the distant
possibilities
of our true natures
your pattern
I laid upon
myself remains
I bend back now
a switchback
path snaking up
a mountain
as origami folds
the timeline’s
disparate moments
to trace finger
tips to lips
to causality’s kiss
a brushed cognizance
like whispers
much too late
to know who
spoke of whom
if at all through
the dark lost
in our ways
(December 23, 2015)
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