Reflections

Working at the fingertip, close to the flower
I perceive the depth of its scent. It is orchid.
Waking in a dream I disturb my own memories
And ask them how they remember what it was that they did.
Fitful memories, that sleep only occasionally – come to me,
Write all the broken words that I spew here
And then disappear into the fogged distance
Leaving only fleeted moments that time holds dear.

Looking at my reflection in the lake of dreams
I often think that I am all there is. Am I not alone?
Reflection tells it in rhyme but Solipsis wont rhyme with me
And its echoes are only the only ripples of its response.
Single player chess on a limited square board are
The only game in this world of dead fish waters.
A flower given birth through a crack in the cosmic egg
Where any hole theory is beyond mere mortals.