UNFINISHED

A fascination with the blank spaces
keeps this city still—the quick
inhale of dawn, the white
between your words—
 
My senses stay grounded
in the world’s wait, with days
heavier than years and the explainable
like steam skating off lakes,
refusing to sustain itself.
 
But I am always miscalculating
distances, running into edges
of walls, corners of conversations—
everything and everyone
pieced too closely together
for even the body to contain itself.
 
Never able to avoid
the physicality of even our
pauses, we hold ourselves
tight, contain ourselves, control
our selves, and lift up
the space between as proof
that the world noticed us
enough to dismiss us.
 
 

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