revisiting sites

have you ever
in that oddly lit place
between wake and sleep
gone backwards
thinking over
decisions that once
caused isomniac weeks
that now appear
as they always were
ephemeral
the breathing of butterflies

the lightness of the stars

in that wakeless hour
populated by many spirits
mostly benign
as I get older
who hold up mirrors
to my future
answering my questions
with songs
in undiscovered
languages
often
leaning foward
to whisper
not to stare