Caught

At five watching the small tube, my home teacher.
The message was a hand would catch me as I
Flew on a trapeze. It was a commercial and I
Understood without knowing the outcome.
I trusted through the hospital, would
I ever leave, the reliving.
Never knowing how the next step would appear,
No net. At times just fear. No ideas,
Just the buzz of my current. Then the teacher appeared.
Out of the invisible matrix my hand was caught.
Each can be a thousand steps, each one
A hand can be waiting or not. No one knows how 

Being out of time one knows.
A hand, a teacher will appear.

Endings

The Gypsy Moth hunts by looking
For a home, invisible code seeking a new beginning,
Relentlessly. I wonder into my own
Destination. Is it like Don Juan says a period on a page, or at a grocery store as I reach.
Of course the library, or
Smiling at an irony I go down. 

Looking up I remember the biblical figures in the clouds.
The kiss on my cheek by an invisible:
Momentary hope.
Where did my wife go, my great Chessie.
What chrysalis did they become, doubts haunt me.
I live in expectation.