In the vast ornate antechamber of dream
I unbutton my self and remove it

I try carefully to fold it but it refuses
to hold a pleat and becomes a small cloud

A hint of breeze comes to float it off
leaving me more naked than naked

The faculty of loneliness has deserted me
I shatter suddenly to be a flock of birds

Compound entity flying through night
to light in the branches of an inky oak

We are the leaves of burgeoning spring
and attach by slender stems to the wood

Nothing lingers of the birds we were
Nothing lingers of the words I was

Waking is the most peculiar passage
I come back from not having been

I have to learn myself all over again,
finger each button as a perfect stranger

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