Time, again

If I told you that

I wrote one poem

a day for an entire

year and in the end

really didn’t say anything

other than here I am

writing about time

again one moment after

the next moving one

step closer to the end

one character at a time

with little to show for

it all except for that series

of letters assembled

into words that may

or may not

make sense the

encoding of sensory

information on the

prefrontal cortex being

an intricate science as

neurons dance across

the hippocampus governed

by synaptic plasticity

with a long term

potentiation that carves

a physical trace in

the brain’s structure

where by chance

someone somewhere

someday

might find a moment

of solace in those black

smudges I wrote

that incredibly

manifest a sense of

feeling and a peculiar

depth of emotion

recognized

by a strange person

I’ll never know or meet