Even fingerprints whose foggy dunes
Leave too few spaces between rough and smooth,
Where life’s textures nestle in silence
— Orphaned thoughts — vacant memories.
For what hand, what ship can bear an
Unexpected soul weight delivered across
Life’s unflattened ocean, tilting on torrents
Of gritty misery or slippery despair?
Between hard and soft
Exists no medium
With which to grip
Each yesterday.
– 18 August
Prose/day 