The poetry you lose seems wasted
Because you failed to externalize.
For hours maybe even days you continue to feel that
Lost opportunity, as if reaching off an empty pier
To pull aside the fog— a chance to see
And let them see you. But when you pull it back
Not even the miss you missed is there.
You are wanted,
But you want the miss.
So, with the curtain in your hand you ignore the future
As your guts shake the bottom of the sea to life.