divinity flows in our blood.

To ignore these images in waking life
and dismiss them as hallucination -
To overlook these flashing insects
and to pass these shadows as imagination

I think it's taking a certain toll.

What's left to do when you can stare
straight down a hall and witness
shadowy animals crawling towards you
without turning away?

Except to say, begone, I'm trying to sleep now.

Every few weeks the silhouette of an old man
passes the bedroom window at night.
what's left of his pain
is an orange outline against the blinds.

Now I fear he will return soon,
and halfway through his repertoire
he'll stop and turn to me,
knowing I am sick with waking life
and unable to conjure him away.