like a rivulet's trek through the mid-winter frost...

sometimes i feel it for a moment

between breaths and stacking

dishes neatly side by side

in a washer that is full.

or sitting wedged between

a blonde boy and girl

of brunette locks, both

attentive to my reading voice.

i grasp and grapple

trying to catch the elusive

rope to somewhere, which

doesn't have a destination i know.

if i could only catch these

beats, extend them, stretch

on past what i think will

carry me forward wholly.

is it even possible? to

live within the lines and

remember all that is tiered

and placed on my plate.

perhaps a fool's merry dance

when the answer lies at

my tangled feet, just here

let me. tied too tight.

like a rivulet's trek through

the mid-winter frost, slow

to the eye, step by step

toward the shore of grace.

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