I feel as a ghost some days,
faded and fading into eventual transparency
like a sheer curtain hung too long in the sun
moving with the vagaries of the wind
from here to there and back again – without reason

yet there is evidence of me in the world;
there are footprints that show I was (t)here,
and waves moving forever through time

am I still (t)here?
or am I recreating a known place –
that anxiety and fear might put flesh again to my bones;
that love and lust might pump my hot blood again,
through veins that may not even be there?

where am I that I have become so lost even to myself?
I’m of, but not in…
a vapour that has long since left the ocean
but has not realized it yet…