Waking from dreams of you
In missed calls, and read messages
spaces of the future
where the possibilities collapse
without memory
swept away in the desert
in plumes of dust and sand
what kind of gift is this?
To endure,
unrelenting days in unforgiving heat
as hallucinations
of what will not come to pass.
And I am caught
In the mixture of feelings
Divided by the hurt
and the beauty
and the power
reigning over desiccated landscapes
in futures of what could have been.
