Recover

Your hands-
are like a tomb,
containing my soul.
Or a butterfly;
navigating...
the creases in my hands
flitting toward light.
Under my skin,
shifting...
in my bones.

You cannot recover.
Hold that thought.
Free-fall back in time;
a shadow-
crawling from a grave.
With ink-stained eye lids,
writing...
as you blink.
Transcript of the past-
your silhouette...
contained,
like a ghost on camera.