Not yet…may we see that… not now,
A hiatus of some months, some years,
The hunger for reality sits comfortably
On the prevailing swirling currents
Running through the dreamless isolation.
We know not the impact, the reprisal,
Takes up the reins with frontier spirit,
Trap in loveless life go for a mighty spin,
A kind of self-awareness sweep across
The uneven plane, otherwise bland and empty.
Love and hatred, the pattern and identity
Unfolds frosty morning and darkly night,
The attachment and loss that shape a life
Disparate and detached yet rudely familiar,
The fragments never come to a coherent whole.