We leave so much in time behind us. Old worlds, glasses full of whiskey & wine & memories. As children we dreamed of being, becoming. In this twilight we merely dream and sometimes wish for the magnificence of lost moments & days. How could it be that we once lived through these times and never realized that these were the sacred days of magic? Now all we have left are songs & photographs wherein our present being attempts to discover it's own rebirth. Therefore, 'to be' is the only answer. We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms Incantations