Marjorie A Buettner

What Worlds

Still in dream time, I wander to the living room to write about the lost love whom I comforted before dying – so young – but who was he? My brother, my long, lost uncle, my son? After his death, he came to me in the open sky, flying right above my head with that sort of boyish look exclaiming life is forever, love is forever, and then vanishing into mist. But before he vanished, we touched hands and interlaced fingers. This ghost love of mine declared love forever, but who was he? Who am I? What worlds have I known before this one?

setting the time
one hour earlier . . .
stalking loneliness