verisimilitude

that which appears
like a ghost hovering in the glass
why do you move when i move
how can you give me a name
and a skin to lay claim
to hold this inside
inside?

there were dreams i had
where i floated over nectar rich
fields of other minds
floated with a fluttering disturbance
accompanying
and i could taste their thoughts
rich and insipid
upon a proboscis sampler
and once sated, i carried a
the unfruited desire of the world
supported by sails i could not hide...

and then this.
the puddled ruins
of a storm.
the ring around bathtubs.
the remnants of off'ed skin.
the world has drained away.
the burden of
collecting myself
in a heavy and clumsy bag
after such a dream.

and before myself
to only believe in the seeing
that i am,
and to only see the disbelief
imprisoned in the glass.

for long unstudied moments
it is to wonder
who this is.