Pluck

in the flip of a coin
the draw of a straw
amidst this magical thinking
this considering
of impossibilities
I see you

in my future, entangled,
between vines and ivy
spines scratching my skin
with words
and blood of the past
I see, in droplets falling to the floor
many happy returns–
a righteous attempt to be filled
again, to be well
be whomever I’m supposed to be
with you, without you,
all at a time

in thunderous sounds
rocks rolling down
steep stairs, stumbling
onto the floor, my head
resounding with the percussion
of lost days
of what I’ve left behind

now the coin tingles
against the soil, sharp
like the tick of a clock
announcing the end of an era
the beginning of another
alone, astray, without the ones
that conform now
only the past

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One thought on “Pluck

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