When I can’t think or do
but stare down roads
or watch the walls
confusing light for sound
crossing days off with indecision
the empty sky
and lonely road
meet who knows where.
When days run quiet
half future
half past
there may remain a question
I don’t mind
and that’s ok;
so if the door’s half open
unattended by certainty
know I’m somewhere near
tending to the days far off.