Mind and memory,
can I forget myself
in the smoke, a thought bends
like light through a prism,
no matter what way it turns
it’s always different, my memory
filtering through, grasping to
keep my self separate from
my dreams. Lost.
Alina Happy Hansen
Writer in San Francisco, CA
- SF
In May, the fog slips
Into the city nestling
Against glass and steel
I am perched at the bar and
Swim in music and murmurs