it’s a wanting-

to create

to pour forth

to put a finger on something

that’s never quite been said,

never exactly been done.

to create a space for the floating debris

askew and at odd angles in the mind,

to give them a rightful home.

it’s an indulgence and a fishing line

cast out into a faceless sea

in the hopes of feeling a nibble,

that satisfying sink of a bite.

it’s wanting to get things right,

to make sense of the senseless

to not lose what’s already been lost.

it’s preserving and

extending,

swelling

and compressing

the pieces,

all of the bits and bobs

that accumulate in a life.

making whole that which cannot

just

be.

it’s giving a name to what’s there,

and in the process,

finding words

that give voice to what isn’t.