Don’t think I’ve forgotten
How to do whatever it is I’m doing here.
I believe that absence
Makes hearts grow dull.
Blunted.
A weapon nonetheless.
I am not here
To be used
As I see fit.
There is only use.
I pull my sentence from
A worn scabbard
And open my palms.
Watch as my sentence takes
Flight
into the moment unseen
To deliver
Itself
Elsewhere
