the white feather

you haven't changed a bit,

have you,

she says

in a dream,

brushing a white feather off my

shirt.

you're still the same

boy

inside.

a glass of milk, a slice of cake.

the devilish grin,

the glint

of mischief

in your green eyes.

you haven't changed a bit,

have you? she says.

you're the same boy

i knew 

when i was still alive.