image from lukeslivefish.com
poem originally written for and published at Story Circle Network's True Words Journal, December 2025.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I reached for it~ the way one gropes for a light switch in an unfamiliar room, fingers brushing the dark, expecting edges, warmth, but finding only air. What was it? A name half-whispered, a key left dangling in a lock, a joke without its punchline dissolving into static. Now it circles, a moth with singed wings, dizzying the periphery~ so close I taste its rust, so far it might as well be the shadow of a crow passing over the sun. I laugh, mostly to stop the hollow in my ribs from echoing the same old question: What was I thinking? But the mind is a sieve, and some thoughts are meant to slip through~ small, silver minnows vanishing into deeper water.
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