WHO WROTE ME?
I am, I was, I will be…
Maybe.
I sing, I sang, I will sing again
Perhaps.
The path out of the forest
disappears too soon into the hills,
corn popped, husks dropped.
Is there a me to be?
Or a time to count? If there
is more than a dream
what dreams it? A second chance
at what? Caught in something’s
game show, DNA in shreds?
Bird on the wing is migrating maybe?
Biscuits in the oven pethaps, but
is anybody home? Who wrote this?
I hear you. I, too, am here.
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