chewing on the frayed ends of old, worn threads
of choice, of chance, of fate, of hope, of dreams
wondering where my free-will ends, this cup
passing, where destiny begins, takes shape
takes form, did it not matter, or do these
things still shift, still split, still slip, twist, and bend
this far out, this late in the game, now in
overtime, with seconds to go, and still…

…still worrying over lines and crossings
pencil shavings and eraser bits, now
page upon page of meaningless drivel
smearing and blurring with each added stroke
weighing and measuring, calculating
each choice fraught with peril, each word
laden with meaning mislaid, undermined
by the gravid and tormented silence.

like crashing waves, my blood
splashes on the walls of my failing heart

not knowing, never knowing, how to say
      I love her.
my heart cartwheels and somersaults and it
thrills and it trembles like a butterfly
or a hummingbird in flight, hovering
thrumming and thrilling, rushing and soaring
havoc and chaos, disorder, madness
my soul roils with great longing and yearning

trying to unfurl this banner not yet
woven, this wond’rous tapestry of dream
this garment of wishes still unfulfilled

jumping too far ahead, beyond all sight
into choices not yet chosen, into
these pathways still waiting to be descried
onto thin air, on water, past sunset
through the dark, starry night until sunrise,
I chase her upon sunbeams through blue skies
to far galaxies on bright photon streams
keeping her words of hope close to my heart

why can I not set my heart on something possible?

still this yearning, like the tumult of spring
dawning upon the frozen landscape of
these northern wastes as the ice cracks and thaws
and drops of snow-melt turn to a trickle
then a torrent, then a river with a
voice and a song, lost and meandering
forever seeking the sea