“Am I lonelier nowThan when my sad imaginationHad him disappear?Heart torn,Loosing tiny dropletsOf sorrowNo tape can measureNo needle can mend.”

“Are we alikeIn that in-betweenness?Can he see,When I smile my blue eyes backAt his brown ones,The country-city-woman-girlDancer, studentBewilderedUnbelongingYearning?”

“Her body disappears like my voiceWhen I look too closely in the mirrorWithout the pages of a notebook, a penTo save me.”

“I am pretty sure the myth of meIs better than the reality.”

“Do I dare ask him for what I want,As if I knew it,Could find it on some pageIn some chapterIn some book?”

“It is strange to hear my wordsRead back to me.I don't think I wrote themTo have them ever leave the page.I think I only writeWhat happens across my brainWhen my feet are too weary To dance anymore.”

“I hover over myselfWatching.Mind and body separated,Each in controlAs though there are two puppeteersWorking the strings of my marionette self.”