NOT WHERE YOU THINK

It's in the ebb and flow... you know - tides bringing remnants of moments someone else tossed out, picked up by you and examined ever so briefly. Is this one worth keeping and will it too join with the rest of those collected over years chasing the perfect, most elusive gift from afar?

It's in the words, only those flittering between. The tiny nuances hidden beneath the banter and the chatter and the clutter and the silences when words betray and words collide; constructing other - largely unnecessary yet often dripping with untold sincerity - sentences.

It's in the moments. One the other following to where one the other leads and you step in another's footprints knowing not the destination or whether he has even stopped somewhere ahead around the bend. Awaiting your arrival? Cursed mystery.

It's in the time you give and time you take in turn and in the time you gaze alone at obscured sunrises and obscured windows and obscured minds - all the same really for there is nothing to see in any... see? Yet nothing is also something to behold and truth be told, rather this nothing than the mess of everything.

It's in the pauses - those occasions when the heart stops and then life becomes a thing to reach again, to delve into so far so deep so out of where you are. Can he withstand foretold convictions and does he times pause too - just enough to hear the gasp for breath long denied and oft mistaken for the 'real' thing?

It's in the memories, infinite loops creating more loops in the vain attempt to make new history yet only repeating, dropping one off into the same place - only the face is different - only the face offers some grace from the repetitiveness of actions looped in solid perpetuity.

It's in the struggle to be free - underlying suppositions this freedom must be earned through shackles broken and ties loosed... the closing stages of a play closing for good. Only... the carrot and the stick and that damned dangling rod cast in the waters of believing one is free at last - until the nibble and then entrapment reeling one in. Freedom is never free.

And it's in you, ultimately. The dreaded adverb adding to the dreaded notion one is never to be whole again unless one is in you - buried within - some place where time and space defy even the mystery you claim is paramount and you spout out - thereby deflecting and rejecting notions other than what will be will be.

You hold the power see but you do not see the power holding you. To me.