Anesthesia,
out in the dark, walking through fog,
trying to retrace my steps to God,
shining my light, but my light looks odd,
like it’s walling me in, and I’m thinking,
“If ever untethered, I know you’ll know.”
Synesthesia,
color connects with your wires crossed,
keep me from vanishing at any cost.
Flip on the porchlight if you sense I’m lost,
and we’ll find a way back together.
If ever untethered, I know you’ll know.
