Updated: Aug 20, 2021

I wish it  all put, had been put. Out of my misery, my reverie, my mine and me— a soundless fall to final momentary  impact. Motes hang and turn and mingle.

I want it  all behind me.

Then and there:

Nothing before, Nor beyond— even the dragons. A still horizon minus the line.

I will it baffle on brittle breaths while my breath is gone— bereft of past, pointless present, no two to chart a third.