Will

Lives in me exchange stories
of times that were and
times that are not.
Reminiscing the deranged
line that parts the two.
By design,
body and it's shadow
do not catch up?


The mechanism of my will
commands to stow away
the trinkets,books and what-nots
that carry your faint apparitions
Bury your fragrance,in the woods.
Tend the backyard,
get high on noisy laughter,
though it echoes with a vengeance.