The Poem that Refused to Arrive

Half the line remains unwritten

the ink waits restless

while meaning hides between horizons

One-word steps forward

another retreats into silence

they circle as if unwilling

to resolve their quarrel of belonging

I am tethered

between two continents of thought

one dissolving behind me

one always receding ahead

The poem itself seems to hover here

suspended spectral

part breath part phantom

unwilling to reveal its complete shape

Every phrase becomes a bridge

building itself mid span

never touching shore

never faltering either

Perhaps this is the true poem

neither here nor there

but the trembling interval

where certainty falters

and language is born unfinished

And so, I write

though each word betrays me

though each syllable dissolves

before reaching its destination

Somewhere beyond the page

the completed verse waits

but here

I remain inside the middle

listening for what

refuses to arrive