When the words pour out in a torrent as the grip tightens to something without wanting to lose it,
The hands of one too many in a moment of weakness that will certainly continue.
The word keeps repeating in the day and night,
The moment.
There could be one, there could not be.
Afterwards no one knows what happens, and anyone who does can’t say so for sure.
Nothing is concrete it flows ahead like a bridge being built as you go, when it gets broken every second is a new second.
No certainty, every day, no certainty.
The internal argument that starts when it begins to show,
The things that are said and the things that follow. It happens it flips and it happens again, different as the road stretches on.
Elucidating Questions 
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