Not Again


Low sun. Don’t lose the line.
Something in the glare where the sea meets sky.
Too much hunger in the welcome.
Every greeting hides a claim.
“Not yet. We can’t come through.
Let us leave without a word.”
I look down, type, look up again.
Miss one word. Start over then.
“Deep in the ocean when daylight goes.
Back with the sunrise, concealed in the glow.” I leave a blank for what I don’t know.
“Keep what happened.
Don’t explain us. Let us go.
First comes wonder. Then comes worth.
Then someone decides who gets there first.”
Low sun. Don’t lose the line.
Something in the glare where the sea meets sky.
Too much hunger in the welcome.
Every greeting hides a claim.
“Not yet. We can’t come through.
Let us leave without a word.”
I put those requests beside our work.
Read what we promised. Check what it’s worth.
Keep the past. Keep the present, too.
Leave a future we can come through.
Care has to hold when there’s something to gain.
I read that twice.
Leave it plain. “First light.
Still not yet.”