Lunette 30
Bruce Bond
I am reading an email from a psychic who asks, isn’t it time to be whole again, as you were before you were forgotten, and I know he is a dream. I am nothing to him, save the possible mark, and so I answer, yes, it is. For fortune awaits me. I know. I am just that lonely and afraid, like money searching online for some connection. Is wholeness an arrival or departure, I ask. If I were a curve, would I close. I am just that broken, that anxious about small dark spaces, like the closet where I hid my sadness as a child. I had a dream last night, my psychic answers, about you and me in a former life. He is just that good looking in the picture. His eyes are a child’s, small and dark. But when I go inside, no one is there. And to every question, silence answers. To every blade of grass, a shard of dawn.