Death awaits at journey’s end

A silent half-thought sentence

Suspended in mid-air

Neither floating up nor down; just there

With care I would attend the words

wrought for that closing phrase

So many drafts, how densely filled that final august page

How tedious, how tiresome the bleak unmetered text

In vain anticipation of some good that must come next

Attend you now the space before that final deathly dot

It’s there for you to fill with love,

for that is all you’ve got.