The in betweens.
The innards of numberless days
and misplaced weeks.
What was it all doing in there?
A white noise?
A quiet quant murmur, perhaps?
I had no idyllic to what my cards concluded,
The stem cell palette begs for transition through taste.
I grip the roots away from mind fields
and create a place for them on high windowsills.
The higher it was,
the harder it was to reach.
That expectation wasn’t worthy of the cause.
© Thelma Von Salem @ https://thelmavonsalem.com