The Missing Pages

In our deeds

I am your past.

Hiding god

behind the wall

we are the

passage.

I no longer

long for

their paradise

impossible

to let go

when passing.

Shall we?

The great Houdini

opened a door

looking for mother

found drawings

& photographs

on the floor—a

case run cold.

In the tunnel

below the plant

remarkable

an endless cycle

the origin

of all suffering

suspected

no more.