Enigmatic Glimpses

At different times and places

we catch enigmatic glimpses of ourselves,

opaque replicas suspended in mirage.

Through the catacombs of memory, 

our present self imagines 

that peculiar self of the past. 

Coming again to each other

after all that time, thinking possibly

we'd both ceased to endure. 

Perhaps one day, 

struck by a few simple words

we'll catch sight of ourselves, 

and rejoice once again,

finding 'our self' in a poem

that for now, just doesn’t exist. 

My body’s now a begging bowl, 
that’s begging to get back, begging to get back 
To my heart, to the rhythm of my soul, 
to the rhythm of my unconsciousness.