I look over my shoulder, bare
To see what lay beyond
Sensing what I’d lost
What had been and gone
Gone before I knew
What I’d lost for good
Lost in black hole, left behind
An object, that I should
Have thought of more
Have thought to store
In memory of kind
Embellishment of what is real
A dream, I couldn’t find
What I sensed in sight
I lost that night
I approached what came to me
I knew at last
I had a grasp
Of what had come to see
It came to see the brighter light
To feel, to touch, to clench
Only fiction left in afterglow
Rendered my intelligence
Void of knowledge, left with despair
Lost in black hole, left for dead
A chasm, rift, a hollow place
I stared at death, my final bed
What and where and how,
Had black hole come to me?
Like a magnet, like a moth to flame
Unwilling to accept, it couldn’t be
Acting out what I’d dreamt
Like Impressionistic art
Painting the view of life I knew
Painting refreshment, a new start
Once upon a time there was a man
Whose clock began again
Black hole replaced with wonderment
Why – for whom, and how, and when?
sensualism 