POEM

I awaken to the static murmur,

contemplations uncoiling, crude and anxious —

where was I, what was I dreaming?

The spill of time is all over the place,

fingers following breaks in the roof

as though they are streets to some place

I haven't been.

I stagger over myself peacefully,

pursuing shadows of things implied,

words contorted like bunches I can't loosen.

My meaning could be a little clearer.

What am I attempting to mean?

The mirror obscures —

I keep away from eye-to-eye connection with the past me

furthermore, the future me, both watching,

sitting tight for the response.

I want to be the sea,

no considerations, simply waves

crashing on the grounds that they should,

cutting out coastlines

without clarification.

However, I'm right here — incomplete,

such a large number of edges to smooth,

such a large number of varieties draining together

into a shape I can't perceive.

I talk however it's undeniably muddled,

like spilling out a cup

before I understand what's inside —

to an extreme, adequately not.

Everything half-shaped,

like a sentence I leave mid-breath,

figuring the world could complete it for me.

I keep thinking about whether others feel like this —

like pieces wearing skin,

scarcely held back.

Perhaps we are all

unfiltered dreams,

shards of glass reflecting pieces of the sun,

trusting we're seen,

trusting we're entirety.