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The landing strip is gone and now I’m lost

The numbered spaces meaningless as strangers’ faces

Words I read again like places I have been

But changed.

I went back home today. Someone else’s car is parked

In the place we used to play.

More houses have been built, crowding in together;

Faces that we knew have long since passed away.

Are there ghosts within the text that move the words around?

That take the story that you knew you knew

And make it more profound?

I only want to find my place and work from there in forward motion;

I don’t want to get lost in revisions of the past,

But I’m turning pages, drawn like Hamlet to a ghost,

Falling in to this,

A place I’ve already been,

Where the present me encounters one I shouldn’t see

And tries to yell the future,

Spoil the end,

Like yelling from a moving train

That love will come,

Love will come,

Love will come.

Just hang on till then.