Unborn

You remain in that

treacherous land

between here and there,

between now and then,

between us and them,

our flesh and blood.

Unbrought

Into this one;

Suspended

Over the other.

Neither here nor there,

Neither now nor then,

Neither ours nor theirs,

But yet still,

Our flesh and blood.

What seasons

What oceans

What mountains

What valleys

What laughter

What tears

What worlds

You could have seen.

You could have been.

The Pied Piper

Played his flute.

You followed

Into the caverns

Into the dim recesses

Of what could not be forgotten,

Of what could not be begotten,

Of what need not have been,

Of what could not be seen,

Of what remained

In the end,

just ash and dust,

a dream.