What separates you and the rest of the world
is but one door in a row of others.
There are no easy crossings:
It is the rest of the world against you
and your memories.
I come here in the early mornings
intruding in a still barbed wired reality
your body crawled out, but your mind never did,
not really.
I wish I could be on the other side, with you, not here
trying to get past that border of the Past
and help the Now get a foot in the door
to sustain you, deprived utterly of love, but
all I can do is offer you
your breakfast.
