Where the Lines Have Fallen

We’ve both walked away before.
A poet always thinks he knows
where the breaks should be
then turns back and fusses
with them weeks, months,
years later. Only to return
the lot to where they were.

You are beautiful
but far away
and I can’t even manage
this long run-on sentence
called my life. No place
looks right for a pause.
I don’t have the strength
to move punctuation
or change a phrase
once uttered.

Let it lie.
Maybe one day
I’ll be wise enough to know
where everything belongs.


6 thoughts on “Where the Lines Have Fallen

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