I don’t belong
Not here, not ever
Stranger to this family
like looking

into a glass house
My voice mute as snowfall
opinions obsolete
My body
vague

as a soft copper pulse

of moonlight


through blossoming sea fog
Born too early
or maybe too late
Of a different age
not yet upon us
Prophet?
no

yes


maybe
Stranger in our midst
People hear
of this so called

angel
I feel more like an
empty specter
doomed to wander among the living
Some came desperate,
to recapture escaped dreams

and wasted years of faith
What of the street corner man
who also proclaims

‘the end is near?’