• a starting place •

So much unsaid,
like the over-stuffed box,
full of letters, un-sent,
under my bed,
and too, those ensconced
in the nested sub-folders
of my however many
Apple computers I’ve shelved,
over the years,
whose computer languages
are accessible to no one, now,
not even to myself.
Still, love has no time,
and is its own reason to exist,
if too, something?
What, too personal?
Perhaps, yes? Still, friend,
to smile, is almost, to laugh.
And that’s a starting place,
ever and always, for bliss.
~ Tim Burchfield
5/7/17