Shift (Poetry)

For a moment it’s just possible
I’m somewhere else — a gentle shift
that slit of light beneath my lids
tells me so — suggests instead
a room abandoned long ago.

And I hear sounds that filter in
to tell their stories once again
voices drift across the fence
and mowers cut eternal lawns
each blade of grass a flame.

The smells of summer slide between
the curtain’s crack and layer air
like strata telling all the years
buried deep in memory
released from some long sleep.

The moment caught — I hold it there
as long as possible before
it fades — dissolves — my world moved on
to different walls that might miss me
once my thin shadow’s gone.