It’s now this 
time of day
when missing what 
casts its long 
shadow as day
draws to close 
and low sun
brings with it 
this dark reflection 
as though I’ve 
been sitting dockside 
pole in hand 
hoping for at
least the nibble 
of someone’s curiosity 

And like almost 
anything once lost
things find their 
way back wearier 
sure for finding 
back is always 
harder than finding 
front for front 
faces the street
and back is 
hidden behind things 
like trash bins
and secret doors 

White turns
to gray
after time 
from soap
or sky
making new 
old again 
and clouds 
into rain 
what one 
starts out 
as rarely 
ends the 
same way 

I read recently 
some AI slop
describing my writing 
and it took 
me way back 
to high school 
when my English 
teacher embarrassed me 
in front of 
the entire class 
predicting that I 
would never be 
a good writer 
not that I 
ever wanted to 
I have learned 
that disbelief is 
a great motivator 
I have never 
written in order 
to prove anyone 
wrong but rather 
to simply breathe 
for life after 
all is all
I can share 

I picked up 
what was left
and looked decidedly 
was there any 
point of putting 
it back together 
so built anew
I decided to 
do but not 
in some ancient 
style but fresh 
and from nothing 
but now that 
it’s finally done 
I’m already thinking 
what is next 
and what if
I purposely accidentally 
tipped over the 
table top sending 
my last past
onward into oblivion