As broken ropes
flail the wind,
sentences unravel
as I read.
I cannot sustain
the unrelenting line.
Only fragments
torn from phrases,
sinews flayed
from the spine,
rise into the air
before me
like smoke wisps
from a dead fire.
Easy enough now
to see the trail
which led me here:
this door opened,
that door closed;
before me,
behind me.
I entered, or not.
Despite memory’s
clarity, my choices
currently run vague
beneath hardened ice.
I squat on the edge
of this river, and
note the cold margins
of my understandings.
(February 5, 2015)
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