i yell at the clouds between sunrise dreams
their whispy constellations forming unresolved patterns
that hide and wink with conspiracy
"the devil is in the details"
she said,
but her voice is more whisper than sound
and I wonder if she was ever really here
i climb into bed and close the sheets behind me
to lock away the day
hiding my fears behind the substance of sleep and repetition
"identity is not who you are"
she said,
"but what you do"
and her voice is more thought than whisper
and I wonder if she was ever more than me