Irresolution

[The entry for this week's 3WW prompt. Thanks to Teal for helping out with the editing]

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Everywhere, I see shapes grimace

into punctuation marks.


Tear shaped pauses I spot here:

raised ones curving along the spines of dogs asleep on the road;

inverted ones drifting along the cheeks of

a four year old.


Full, solid stops a few are - fraying at the edges,

disintegrating;


wrinkling, white surfaces console

me on a bright night;


singed ones,

letting out phantasmal shapes in the dark,

offer quick fixes.


Sidebar legend:

lemon green marks strangers;

ashen ones hide those we seek.

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Today, I misread the print:

'the universe likes to grow forever';

grow into what I ask ?

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Here, we await a punctuation

at the corners,

stumbling towards it

in the made up darkness of our streets,

ready to believe tombstones will

hold us up to light,

phase out the wrecks in us at last,

and relieve us of our monochromatic breath.


But surprised we are, when our

souls boomerang to life after death.

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