holding pattern
these days
my time is turned
paying tribute
to lives lost
or never realized
dreams
a heart wove
as you
shoveled sand
into hourglass
of promise
and empty
all the while
pretending
not to notice
the mountain
you were melting
and mostly
it’s all just air
resting ripe in a bowl
far too damaged
for kintsugi
rift-silent and
hover proud
waiting
[still]
and open
always open
for repair
.
.
listen here
