Conundrum
Looking at some thirty-year-old slides.
Was that me, was that you? How many
successions of now, how many tides,
how many sunrises, rainy and sunny
days must be reversed for me to crawl
back into that disease and ache free body
again. And I must be careful not to fall
into the illusion that the person, lofty
though his intentions may have been,
that started this sonnet is the same person
that is hoping to glean some mean
hope of meaning from original intention.
Unless you live outside of time and connect
you cannot hope to complete what you project.
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