In a gush of words
soon curtailing
only
to suddenly crumple
into a frozen origami
in a wast bin.
But for curious time
to then a little unfold
to a moment
where your written words
criss cross
into new sentences
yet forming
those answers
that you’d sought.
Now
In the bin
only to become
too unknown
to be knowable
just then.
Until later
time onward
slowly dismembers
and spreads them into
the language of everything
to recross
the periphery
of consciousness
like the cycle of the tides.
Until perhaps later
greater experience
sparks into light
what we did not know
we had!
Almost as if the crumpling of paper
like crinkles in waves,
would then
wash up surprises
while wandering
on our own sea shores…
Carl John Jan 2020