Lost

Fundamental fissures open endlessly spilling rain deeply where the heat is. A blank white room with a steady drip for a clock is the one to avoid when the diversions are used up. Busy lives, busy lies weave a door that seals illusions to my soul. The backward glance as from a precipice over a void. entices not to fall but to float. Does missing my father cause the loneliness or point out the singular journey.