and still is…


What to make of an open end
Leave it to gather
mould and dust in the dark
or allow it to dissipate
and expand in an arc
of pale should haves
and half measures
dished in anorexic portions
morselled to feed distortions
grown to daunting proportions
taunting better judgement
with their glow

What to do with loose threads
hanging from words
Tie their tongues
with punctuation
or tease out insinuations
to unravel the past
and weave a pattern
to contrast and outlast
this sky overcast
with dead winter grey

We could wait until spring
and see what it brings
But we fear what is
will still be
entangled in our dreams
always dangling
just out of reach

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