ordinary and special

sometimes
when I go out into the world,
a little too far away
from home,
I hover over fields of green
on the other side of now,
an alien from outer-space,
invisible to eyes that are lost
in the grandeur
of shades and textures
that need light to be seen;
and in those moments
where my heart is ripped
into shreds of ghostly trimmings,
drifting upon a shore-less breeze,
I slip into that dark well
where everything is hushed
into a death-like silence,
where ants crawl alongside a wall
oblivious to a giant world,
where an insipid leaf clings
to the simmering tar at noon,
where an out-of-place flower
peeps out of a manicured garden,
where everything that's unseen
remains ordinary,
and so, special.