Wood Between Worlds

Amidst worlds, trapped in transitory allegory.
We were never meant to stay, ringless, wandering
aimless avenues between the stories, forbidden
to enter, although we know the supposed structure;
A beginning, middle, then 
the end. Our middle is ephemeral, indefinite,
we've never been here before. We may be 
forgetting our history--drifting and spinning, 
wisdom of mothers professing
empathy of friends bemoaning
failure for us, the gypsies, now freeholders,
unpredicted denizens of this grey world.

2012fallwinter 253