Always that last moment,

when just before the landslide,

our footing grabs hold with a sort of, almost

what if, reality.

Soft is the response,

initially,

all of the unknown tragedy

will be left behind,

swept underneath the miles of concrete

laid along the way,

a surface texture,

that when imagined in a different time,

contains the soul of our reality,

that piece of almost,

that notion that suggests despair

isn’t always a necessary option,

unless,

well there is that second guessing target of

afterthought,

the piece of our world,

always waiting to suggest,

we weren’t wrong,

just way to quick to ask forgiveness.

Not what I mean really,

I know forgiveness,

yet, the territorial nature of my fears,

often impede my ability

to truly understand why.

I can never underestimate the power

of knowing why,

before I forget the reasons …

I still imagine you nearby with passionate eyes!