April 2, 2012


Who is not a mystery
unto even himself,
reading between
all the blank pages,
never finding
a single clue,
asking questions
without seeing faces,
night after night
sifting through dreams,
seeking to find
some semblance of you,
having looked
in the most
obscure places,
watching travelers
emerge from the crowd,
rushing as if they
were searching, too?