Though I have more than I had
as a kid growing up,
I am poorer
now than ever.

It appears
the world
disappears
to leave
harsh seams.

I wonder:
How many lives ago?

My future builds
affixed to itself
sans blueprint
but the past collects
by design.

Despair to look back
to revel in excitement
one once had to look forward.

I sense
a mosaic of sound and color
forms at the edge.

Behind me or ahead
I’m uncertain,
purely as a matter
of principle.

© Chagall 2013