Confusion

grey like mist over the secretive mountains

freezing and slashing me to my marrow like the steadfast wind

the slow mysterious melody of a long lost song

with the taste of curiosity nurturing it

like the scent a blind man smells but cannot be certain of what it is

the look of grandma's photo albums, and old and faded memories

yet the texture of fire licking at the tree trunk's roots

sometimes it's the tortoise and sometimes it's the hare,

yet no one knows when it's coming

--me (sometime in 2005)