Lost in the World,

Poema On the distant hill lights shimmer (and the roar of thought - turns to silence.) 5 pm. ( moon already out - turned to shadow ) by morning? I feel restless with [me] - by evening? memories press onto me like a lover, wash over me like rain, felt myself loving another, then felt that love turn to pain. [our being here makes us special.] // we're not really strangers.