It was dark
winter,
but warmth outside
like sumeer,
a misdirected
season.
I thought of him,
and nothing,
but nothing mattered much more.
What was he?
compared to the world?
Nothing
is nothing,

everything in a puzzle
can be fit
even if it’s
out of place
jammed roughly where another piece should go.
train of thought,
in the moondark night,
shining,
travelling,
through cities and landscapes
rhythmic
clacking,
destinationunknown,
but we’re damn well
going to enjoy
life.