Of current events once tossed so finely into the air of admission.
we discover the unfoldings of the day,
to give an aversion of thought or become of what is to be expected
Scooping filaments of tactile gestations
To have felt, to hold, to let go,
As the old saying goes what is done is done
Can I salvage any of excursion of kindness in this?
To reach out grasp more than what is seen?
Holding within the tiny realms of what is allowed,
No matter the day of events, in hopes of my own voids
I hope to continue a way of giving,
far surpa**ed than what is noticed
For when I have my days of retrieval,
I can rest my weary head of existence in great peace.