The Perfect Frustration

The idea formed, complete. As if it stood there, before me, whole. No part was missing.

How to express and where. What it would mean and why.

There was no part of it unassembled, unanswered, unknown.

And then…  unraveled.

Like so much spun cloth on a wheel. no longer together.

As I tried

To put it back together again.

So much silk thread loose in the world.

How do you help anyone understand
what is before them

When they cannot see it?

How do you help anyone see
what is, by virtue of their camouflage world,
invisible to them?

And if you can does it matter?

Or is it beyond you and simply a part of them

that they will follow a path they cannot see
laid out before them like stepping stones.

Filed in: Poems

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