anne.seebach.poetry

Mind hangs lazy
on the hazy edge of real

Couch cozy days
scented with drifts of laughter
wafting from beyond
the wall

A sleepy Sunday…. Monday?
Whenday
Drifting between the pages
time bound, unbound, unravelled
remade
beating to the rhythm of the page

Who is me?
synapses patterning
to the texture of the tale

lines blurring
merging
emerging

lifetimes traversing

And somehow all of me
before and now, is more than