Shall you not move, deaf and wordless

Being blamed because of stillness?

Or shall you go ahead, instead,

Carrying guilt for every step?

Or maybe buzzing all around,

a way not found, a place not found.

Till a saving killing hand clenches fingers on the sound

of the foolish fly it downed.

Now it’s over, now you rest,

with the bitter taste that lasts

when no balance can be asked (and no harmony forecasted)

between two different parts, if the first weights twice the last.