Just as I was hitting my stride, I hit the wall ~ says the tired poet, plum out of metaphors. (Should that be "plumb"?)
stroke a deep breath and
the canary in bloom.
“Dusting” Rita Dove
a dusting of snow ~ cat
at my elbow every breath
a purr ~ earlier flocks
of grosbeaks waxwings
stripping the mountain ash
of berries ~ this day a winter
pause ~ a white cat paw
in my throat or in the spooky rift
between itself and its intended.
"Daynight, With Mountains Tied Inside" by Alice Fulton
so much depends | on the moment(s) between | desire | & | touch