Unseen   She said: you’ve never seen the real me — just that specter that you conjured up, that ghost that wore my flesh, bore my name — we’ve discussed all this before. She said: you are the most unfeeling, unseeing, unknowing man alive. She said: I am a bird of prey, slipping soundlessly through the sky, my hand is a claw, my feathers are black, my eye reveals nothing. She said: you palmed the fare, you never really paid, you got the ride for free. She said: it’s time you grew a pair, the rules don’t apply to me and I lied if I ever said they did. She said: green becomes you but not the real me, unseen.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont September 2019