Backpedaling

saying
“It’s just not my style.”
Leaving to the imagination
a style that includes everything
and nothing
hoping that the thought
hasn’t yet occurred
and that under this particular fog of war
there’s a place to creep back into the shadows
disappear completely
before the veil is lifted
and whatever moment
tension was building towards
passes by.

Listening for it in the distance
you might hear
the rumbling of an old train on heightened rails
pulling in
moving on
and carrying with it
all breadth
of life
left unknown.

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