Let the future fly --
the one that twists your heart.
It’s not a loss to
lose a thing that wasn’t.
I wrote that, unaware at first
the tension
in my tense.
Not so easy, setting futures free --
like cutting
greedy kudzu.
Future’s promised vines curl fast ’tween
bygone fingers,
snaking pastward,
twisting thens
with wistful nows,
tight’ning round a tender, trying present.
Pry them
gently loose.
They played their part; they mean no harm.
Work hard,
but patiently.
It takes a while to untangle time.
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