I am thinking of unfinished business,
of songs that I can no longer
bear to hear the ends of,
poems scribbled on scraps
of paper that trail away
to great blank spaces
at the bottom of the page,
my aura, if I have one,
dimmed by distance and confusion
and uncertainty,
my chakhras, if there are such things,
in disorder,
nothing at all
properly concluded
since I left the thought
of spending the rest of my life
with you
filed away among other fantasies,
the stuff of dreams and daydreams,
unfinished.
Don McWilliams
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unfinished-business-9/
