Midday

The ground is littered
with lottery tickets
torn through and scattered
there is no trace or track
to show what path
I might take
that others may have taken
Who has come before me?
I feel like the first soul here
Where did they come from?
Where did they go?
When were they here?
How long did they stay?
The sun moves to the center of the sky
A breeze starts, the lottery tickets begin
dancing across the ground
like dreams,
unfulfilled but remembered, 
leaving traces in the mind

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