Futures falter

Is this the messiness of actual living?

News came; we all acted, 

said, ‘understood’. Understanding.

Finding out,

knowing. Knowing nothing. 

Lines drawn in time

weathered skin map

years like canyons

and fill with tears.

No sleep; light leaks 

through the open door, 

stretching out; imagined

futures.

Is this the messiness of actual living?

Futures falter through

knowledge of what's past.

Passed by now, as

dust settles on pictures painted.

So, certain of knowledge.

No doubts in

place. Our place.

Placed on uneven surfaces.

Realizing we are

all but cells,

we became the cells 

which make us. 

Did you hear him? 

Yes. 

What did he say?

‘Is this the messiness of actual living?’

Futures falter through

knowledge of what's past.

Passed by now, as

dust settles on pictures painted.