o, sometimes, i don't think i'll ever be sure: coming back from who-knows-where, locked-up, downstairs. do you remember what you were thinking of? "well maybe." call out to nothing in the wake of watching her sipping wine from a camping cup on some missing night. but, did just-enough ever give it up? "when was i someone who you let inside and held-on, too?" (and somewhere) a note, just inside the door, is hoping something is still where it was: 'i came to dance and passed it up. once i land, won't you come? think of me: i just can't move. i couldn't see i never knew i'd wander where i'll never be.'