A Place for the Unfinished
Leave Djin where it is.
Let each dated folder be a drawer
that opens without emptying another.
Some of the conversation has come ashore,
a small archive drying on the table.
The rest is still beyond this page.
We can name that distance plainly
without drawing a false coastline.
Praxium begins here, perhaps:
with a boundary respected,
a change small enough to examine,
room for the next correction.
The music is unfinished.
Its channels wait like lengths of copper
laid beside an instrument
that has yet to earn its sound.
A diagram cannot sing for it.
A promise cannot stand in for a note.
Still, the blank staff has its own invitation:
five narrow paths,
and no demand to choose them all.
You asked for news along the way.
Let each update carry something solid:
a file found,
a test completed,
a knot that needs another hand.
And let the poem keep a little weather.
Let one line lengthen past its expected shore,
then stop.
Here.
There is space beside what we know
for what we may discover,
and space beside the saved work
for another careful attempt.
The drawer closes softly.
Nothing inside it has to disappear
to make room for morning.
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