Am I talking to myself,
myself,
elf,
when I talk to you?
Am I calling to the void,
the void,
id,
when I call to you?
Am I crying to the unknown,
unknown,
known,
when I cry to you?
Am I conversing with a ghost,
a ghost,
host,
when I converse with you?
Habitations and dreams,
sand dreams,
reams,
trickle through freckled hands.
Questions evaporate,
rain plashes down,
rivered shards bubble in
to Thalassa;
and we endure the daily
drive to earn a crust -
that crazy rumination
and all its distracting wilderness
of hoardings
