Mirage
In darkness, each ache
adds to an outline
of your inhabited shape.
Whatever is left over
that is not body
claws from the inside
trying to get out.
In the end
you settle for hole
in the mind, perhaps
finding a quiet hollow
in the walls of an evening,
a place overlooking a river
where its waters widen
into a blissful sleep.
Though,
this is never enough,
a mere substitute
as when words fly off
in search of meaning
and briefly catch the sun
on the turn
of their outstretched wings
only to collapse
into a watery mirage
strung across the horizons
of yourself.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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