Always, and first-off, I reach for mind,

Spewing story forward

Or back in time.

Invariably Imaginative,

I dwell in the colourful imagery

Of that dull and flat land,

Wishing for more,

Ever, ever more.

Later, I speak the words: “I am”

And feel the colourful future

Withdraw from absent lands,

While the past retreats into me,

Coalesces where I be,

Ever and always myself.

And here, the colour is love

Where fictions are impotent

And the warm smile of being

Dissolves all but itself.