a story is just a story
which ends as it begins
as it must
(as they always do),
and those threads we weave
together from imagination
or belief (the questions
we fail to ask) —
yet standing now somewhere
near the middle
of this particular dream
i see the starts and stops
much more clearly than before —
about how what we tell
ourselves (whether quietly
or aloud)
resounds in the spaces
of our waking hours
which determines
what will rebound our way
and what we’ll convince
ourselves it all means —
as we must,
and as we always do.
