some poetry...

april 3.

I know it’s in a month
I know, to the day.
but it’s as if my travels
are interiorised
in a foggy dream

through which I am sleeping; -
distracted by the characters of my mind.

they whisper and point
in every direction;
the distinction between
west and west
lost to a choir of obligation

and just as they do,
I disappear:

Misplaced among the voices that aren’t mine.

-Heidi