I have witnessed the point
where it all loses meaning.

Nothing climbing, nothing
falling. When everything rides
on that next line, but it is

missed, for you were not yet
satisfied, though it had its place.

Blindness unseen for it
is not there. Scratching our
heads at direct profanity,

when it is someone else's
back we should be scratching,
or our own to be heralding.

We take our chances
where we find them— An
abandoned ticket, or

an unattended beverage;
accepting our losses as
they come.

Reconstructing the issue,
recycling old towns.