Of being strung out on the rack of the actual,
Like well-worn garments hung out to dry.
Are those shirts and jeans the ones I was just wearing?
Are they there because I hung them there?
Sunlight spilling over the line and all it holds,
Soft breezes stirring everything in a stream of light.
Interchanging of here and there, then and now,
A sense of belonging keeps stepping forth.
This waving in the sun and wind,
Are you the missing one, here all along?
love this!