Here in the wee hours
After prayer and prostration
The panic of hours settles in

So much can be done in darkness
So much that nothing will be done at all

So I contemplate you
and I
and him also

What we
or he and I
could have become

How broken we all must be
to never become anything more
than shattered pieces
of little stories
that will never be finished

Fables and fairytales
that will never be told.

I thought I saw you
Wild and beautiful
And him too
Noble and laughing

But always I’ve been a ghost
Angry eventually
And completely unseen

You were too wild
And he was still laughing

Now he and I sit with a careful distance
But I remember warmth
or heat even
And softness I’ve not known since

And you once pulling your fingers
through the tangled landscape of my hair
With the comfort of a child at my breast
suckling to sleep

and me too
swaying with you
into the quiet slumber
of our dream.

Then the light comes
And Ive been lost in visions
of wild horses

Nothing will be accomplished, I see
except sadness.

Nothing of consequence
except sleep.