Should I warn her?

It isn’t my place,

my business,

the role of someone so long forgotten,

and yet my memories are playing at the seesaw,

undulating about the root cause of

one thousand mysteries,

digging up the underline of

an odd phrase,

or a slap in the depth of the night.

Perturbed and unsettled,

she has become the idol of my dreams,

decked in a blur we do not

see until we

release from the fog,

are released by the one who commands it.

I am a leaf on an easy breeze,

and he’ll be there,

buffeting us between sky and water,

every colour being blue and

holding me in a thing or a

photograph.

She is taken,

embraced,

worthy of a better life.

I wish to save her,

but it is not my place.