But there is nothing to hold on to, after
all. And so the wind is even comforting
in that absurd way. What is taken away,
what is not returned. What is ridiculous
(how I'm avoiding saying what I really mean).
And how there is something left somehow
after all: a convoluted
unanswering of the whole thing.
Complicated by truth is better than complicated by having to
maintain a lie.
