Blind Among the Flowers

It's an old tourist's song.
But I agree.
And I ask myself.
What if I ever showed up not myself?
At the crossroads, between
then and now.
My only wife, in this life.
But she is drifting beneath the sunset's colored glare
like a colorless desert bird
I do not know the name of.
I let her drift.
It's how I know I am still alive.
Each step I take in the dream is forward
but really not...really...
i keep walking in the same place,
and this feels like it will never end.
So I pretend to write a memo, now.
That's what this is.
To the sky.
A memo to the sky.
I am not myself.