our tired eyes

telling lies

for what we see is not what

we saw

Phase phrasing:

a gentle dimming of meaning

where words in your head

don't mean the same on the page --

for the heart, intervenes

So tender is the writer

with words tucked inside

a pocket, fearful of how fraught

the eyes of attention can be

Word tinkerer

wrangling an idea

into text -- the next

thing you know,

it's a mess

Movement

arrives slowly -

I'm all mosey

with not nearly

enough engine

Edged out

in eraser marks,

these faint lines

of something

once written, now gone,

I lean my pencil

against the line,

and dream