sweet like maple
a book laid the table
our memories, a staple?
our thoughts, pre-fatal
rather hazy
but under regression
i remember
november of 1862
i was female
but now male
sitting in jail
waiting avail
was this all in my brain
this day?
words can’t explain
our souls live in masquerade
we play
the drums lay
our stem grows
we come back
a different way
a different day