I often cannot sleep in the deep
of night these days of late
when whispers of your memories
Rustle the pages of my mind
Until the world feels up-side down
hobbling along on a single foot
epitomizes sensations of art
meant to be shared by you
so I pretend to write and paint
playing at art as a child playing at life
whether calling it “house” or “family”
matters not when none of the actors
live in these cards
If only we could re-draw
would I hold your love in my hand
in another round of life?