The idea of repose a play, or a fake.
All the plans filter in around us,
clues to our own
attention. For all the pretending, all
I can see is dust. And if I decided
to relish it, I would. Of the many
dreams, I only understood the one where
we all jumped in. The near misses coalesce to
a life. If you intended, if you see the dings
in my revisions, I’ll continue, for a while