The Grey
An idea is an intake of air, a sudden gust of wind awakening
thoughts once dusty, suggestions hidden below cobwebs.
An idea is the putting on of glasses, clarified and cleansed,
cluttered less so now by the daze or malaise of time.
But the choice that follows the idea murmurs.
The choice balks, offering visions of ‘what if?’
and forks in the road. The choice sheds the skin
of the idea. It reveals consequences in bone,
in scale, in claw and print in the dried mud of no going back.
But what of the grey? The grey in between, the grey betwixt?
This sleeps soundly. It yawns and stretches in bed, then
curls around the contentment of that golden idea – yes! –
before the rabbit hole shadows and chasms of the definite.
Stay in that grey middle, this grey before an after, the grey twilight
bridge that holds an idea spawned here, and a choice made, there.
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