always in my dreams
ever on my mind
even in between the sheets
and fleeting hopes of slumber

what is this condition
attuned to your supposed repose…
my making or yours?
am I led or leading?

makes its way into my day
a twinge
a pang
alone?

it is welcome
this soft insanity

fine veins of wind
thread their way
in green and
red
and yellow

some die anew
others new
cut down to die

thorny or lush and lythe
they all go to the same
place