there are so, so many loose ends. so many directions to go, and i uninclined to wander. i do not see poetry thus, as some road to travel, walking down we force the scene to change. but i am told to march, and so, i do. stumbling mostly. perhaps something will come of this, i do not know.
so, i set out. into a land that is unknown, by a way, not my own. to arrive somewhere. will it be worthwhile when the journey's done? i can only hope.
and my little one, so strong, so brave, decides to tell me herself.
so i ask, will you come back from the dead.
and as yet, i've received no response.
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