The hope of so many writers Is to find a way to tell the story Of one's own past and future In a way that rings across the Shadow of every valley of life Bringing tidings of the reality That has been lived, will be Seen, and is in this moment The feeling; oh, what a fortuitous Grasp of the words situated Such that you see my memories Unravel and quilt into a picture Of the mirror image flipped Sideways, that you saw when You looked yourself in the eye