I see us
On the scooter
Isolated in space
But time
Isn’t the right time
The right kind of time
While the vision itself
Is indistinct
Blurred
Which leaves me
Confused
Nothing’s quite adding up
Or going anywhere
That could be a destination
Or even a place to stop
And rest
I need to rest
Let go
And gather in
Paradoxes
Or is that ironies
The scooter drives on
Into the night
Carrying some sort
Of hopeful
Light
Illuminating nothing
No
Illuminating
Streaks of formless
Something
Something formless
Meant to have form
Intending to form
Therein
I know where the hope
In the light
Leads
The right kind of time
Even if I
Have no idea where
Or when
Such time will be
Or was
Pix to Words 