A tear on the fabric of destinies
No look on the right more than ahead
Nor less
One waits without moving the sign, the finger snap of calls
Where once in eternity, the other would give me his courage
Take my pastels between his knuckles and mingle them
Tell me about me, tell me

A blank on the lines shaded with letters
A wait hardly visceral, rather quiet
As an open bay for some long opportunities
Some blows of fate, some surprising ringtones
Something that places me
In my place
And I will approve

A loss of insight
About what to do with oneself
The directory is heavy with potential possibilities
Without frenzy as well
And the finger points only towards the indecisive
Of the design

Tomorrow, she says
And the day goes and she does not come
Where one could expect her
Because she does not know it
The sweet attraction of taking flight beyond

March 2016