Before Winter Comes

I feel somewhat

scattered around.

Parts of me shuttered in isolation.


still hanging.

Bits of me

invested without hope of return.


to connect

finding no purchase

my hands fall to the ground.

Pieces from inside

that left with him but never came back.

Chunks of work

remaining unworked.


I’m exposed and bleeding.

Is it any wonder

I feel

thin and eroded.

There’s no time to gather me.

I must go inside now

patch the holes

before winter comes.

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