Stuck Halfway
Most dissolve or become
shrines you visit in old age.
Others linger, unresolved,
and can sit there in memory
for years until what is missing
comes creeping back
or starts the replay
of a moment you paused
long ago, now let to run
its full length even if
a lifetime late.
There are others that remain
always in between,
stuck halfway
like a stone cast into the dark,
when the ear waits to hear
it break the river's quiet,
but there is no sound,
no end, only a silence
and the fog coming in,
the cold, bitter air
biting on every nerve,
panic taking hold,
closing in to keep a part
of you there, waiting
for something
that will never come.
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