In holding onto ‘ly’, sudden fractures, and calls for splint to support further expectations. Powerless to mend maybe, advancement carries repeat out of reach, planning dreams with no nightlife to diffuse them. There cannot be an extended explanation, as I only disperse one moment at a time through the opening left by you.

At times like this, an outside influence longs me along, that is to say yanks my yearning for re-tread; such a fleeting expense could be too ive-y, as place, takes place, takes place and you oblivious to evaporation, leave my findings out in the open. We still call it progress, under our breath, where condensation forms a film over all that remains of suddenly.

In coming third, I noticed both and not, an end to approach and pause.

An annual instance veers into view. Hearing only distance this year, my eyes relieved of stares, penetrate to the pupil’s light class. In re-arranging the calendar month, dates order themselves around you, or so you believe.

At that microscopic place of discomfort, lazes hope, laced with anti-anticipation, fortified by it, as a fresh grain of uncertainty reinvigorates touch, coaxing your gist from the right hand of morning.

I wedged that door with sanity, understandably contrived for the sake of retrospect. Only in looking back does forward fit the frame, where edges meet naturally, in the stills of life that shutter past yesterday. Is it feasible that some lines in sand don’t wash and that a grain lodges between two toes, without you ever taking your shoes off?