Mesmeric Sifting

It never asked to be named

Nor is there any remembrance of its origin

I carried its tenuous existence

As a detained rapture

Its illusive presence

Like a sifter of magic

Fairy dust of imagination

Always in search of…

All-night Automat food

Horror movies and popcorn

Dark pubs for a pint

And poolhalls emptying out

Into rain-slicked roads

And morning street sweeping machines

Strange partner, this

Leading a quiet life

Yet on 24-7 call

A shadow strained through

The net of my reflective nothingness

So many years passed

A succession of train stations

Until my mesmeric spirit

Whispered

“This is it.”

Gullible as my psyche had become

I got off at an empty platform

No town in sight

No sound to be heard

Only solid concrete

For my feet to feel purpose

The remnant dust of my making

Had settled and became

A nourishing cloak of reality

My armor of belief

I had thankfully found myself