Promises

Were we invited here or drafted? I must have signed the guest book with some vow or other. Making good on that oath has taken this long and I am not done yet. This is no place like home it is just a shell for hermit crabs. Gradually we have all come together as this reality not knowing what to do with it. Miraculously pigs cannot fly yet but we dream our 'out of body' dreams together. Gather to drink the wine of forgetfulness one more time. I suspect an ending to all this it may not be quite death, not quite a life, more like waiting outside a busy foyer in the cold rain as yet more guests leave promising to visit again only next time carrying a larger umbrella.