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If she had to cross the rubicon for lack of sorting colours

	A Rubik’s cube remained an unsolved puzzle

If numbers granted her the wish to live another happy day

	Sudoku would refuse transformation from a maze

If chess could move to manifest the pawn’s hopeless plight

	She’d marry black and white together

If life dealt yet another set of hands tied to brave surrender

	A poker face turned red hot poker in her eye


But when emotions garnished poetry and muses’ feathers

	Ink fell into place from selfless fountain quills

Quite possibly she is unbalanced on a spread sheet of lost time

	And yet her pen embraces harmony with words

Pythagoras still dangles angles and straight lines in broken sequence

	But there is no bloody razor in Archimedes’ bath

She has no rubber duck but sails with Poe’s dark ravens

	Unfolds her plaits for darkened Sylvia

When foam caresses treasure island in her tub at night

	She sails the seven magic oceans

A dolphin croaks another oracle at Delphi’s flood gates

	As she postpones hemlock for another day

When she reaches cataracts of blurry vision in despair

	Zero sum games twist algorithms of illusion

She cannot square roots and circles will not divide her prime

	However much adding up fracture pulls the plug

Regardless of whether steam or tears moisten her parchment

	The misty fog finds metaphors to embrace healing


24th January 2020

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