Riddle

 

I inhabit other’s

lives:

 

sea vista

empty room

 

lies travelling.

 

I turn in alleyway

ever glance behind

 

to road I didn’t

take.

 

The dead call out

to me

 

ask for flesh

on their story

 

eyes that lived

& loved,

 

need more than

half heard memory.

 

I dwell in other’s

minds,

 

while my own

floats free

 

like ignoble

hover bee

 

strictly

seasonal.

 

 

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