Memory lies, using blind desire
as a straight man before a punch
line bends time into cold laughter.
She was there. You know. But when
you look again, she’s not. Even now
you sniff about after scraps, like
an old dog caught in a pattern –
one more turn about, then again,
before circling to the ground
to chase rabbits across dreams.
Were you even there? Was she?
Did it matter? So many frayed
threads, so many trails wandering
off blind into the night’s bramble.
(May 31, 2016)
subtext 