i almost wrote you

another of those
long and winding
lost somewhere in the middle
all raw
i get and am; a living
wire, charged with a current
unseen
kinds of letters
never quite falling on ears
able to hear
as they sound coming from these
fingertips

of my own, but
reaching
always seeking
the connection
jury-rigged and duct taped
because the wire's too
hot, even
as we turn toward another
greywinter wind

it always is, will be
even as leaves become
wet earth growing
a green gleaming again

the wire is fed
a source
unstoppable and
of itself
of myself
of our shared
time, here
and there
in a future
as they all are
filled with preambling
butterflies and neverstopping
knowing and wondering
but evermoving
like the heart's beating
and bouncing and living and trying