Rope
There's no point in splitting hairs
No point in pointing a finger
It's done
The pages are all torn
Trashed and scattered
And dragged through the gutter
Like yesterdays garbage
And all that rope
I supposedly gave
A phantom
There never was a rope,
A leash, nor a chain
Those things are not for sale
At the well
No there never was a rope
Except perhaps
For  the one attached
To the water bucket
From which
We still
Quietly sip
Through
The miles
Of sea
And storm
And time
As long as we stay
This way
This well
Will never dry up

2016-2017 for the attempt to make unconditional, the conditional.