This thing,

that never was.

This thing

that sleeps inside me.

That still sometimes rises.

Still there,

this thing that never was.

Breathing softly.

Gently.

And still sometimes,

sometimes rises.

A song, a word, a smell, a thought.

Awakes.

Alone in cold forest night.

Awakes and searches.

Finding nothing where nothing would be.

Emptiness … asking why.

Emptiness … dark woods’ reply.

Then slowly,

back to sleep on

cool forest floor.

Longing.

Still there.

This thing,

that never was.