Alice isn't the old lady that she is

Alice isn't the little child that she once was

She isn't there when she appears

Alice may not be anyone or anywhere at all

Late night she walks invisibly as do ghosts

Waving arms of oceans of trees she speaks but soft

Like light beams break across a fragile sky and are gone

Alice whispers a name, (not yours) are you sure ?

Then the question is withdrawn,

Sometimes feel her moving slowly within dreams

Almost hold her close although too close to ever know

Where such things are always never seen in seams

Of random bits of thought that fall through night like snow

Alice never k n o w s . . .