I find myself at a pause,
choose something, resume at a loss.
I am but bait to be cast and eaten off.
I find myself a new song,
scribble nothing, still to be stumbled upon.
I am but space to the world, not a thought.
I find myself a second late,
Proving one thing, the past is my state;
brought in by waves, undertow to the run-off,
caught by needle’s graze, cut of the same cloth.
Moments clambered, stuttered
And a lovely thing it was;
Time on its heels; unfeeling, unloved.
I laughed in a dream,
Between the hypnotist’s seams;
As she sewed her best wedding gown.
Her patient fingertips still flay and inflate,
As I wake to the sound