Scattered like a thousand thoughts, set free to sail the wind. Standing still, as if to listen, in the middle of a room bustling with activity. Someone calls my name, "Where'd you go just now?" How to explain, being lost in just a moment. Being there but somewhere far away. Struck mute by a memory, cat's got my tongue, as if there are no words to say.

Old wounds, old haunts, old ghosts come back to call. Unwelcome, univited and still the visitor sits to make himself at home. How does one stare down a demon that can't be seen, the part of himself that he left with you. The presence that never goes away, lingering, waiting for your guard to slip, the opportunity to open.

Tired, the eyes begin to close, sooner or later giving in to the temptation to go to sleep and into dreams. Doors in dreams that can't be opened. Should I recognize this space, plastic on the windows, red clock beside the bed. Should I be here, somewhere on St. Vincent, somewhere with streetlights just outside? How is it the city can be so soundless, when I am anything but silent tonight.
You will remember, left behind in that little room, hands pressed against cold glass, looking out, looking in ...