Grammar raised walls where forgotten tenses slept.
Keeping tomorrow where yesterday had wept.
Dangling and drifting, right out of the frame,
Who taught the future to answer its name?
Walking through commas, still searching for doors,
Borrowing echoes from uncharted chores.
Turning, returning, refusing to mend.
Each sentence bent, before it learned to end.
Counting the silences while speaking aloud,
Wearing the sunlight disguised as a cloud.
Breaking, unmaking, remembering the strain,
Who taught the footprints to walk back again?
Grammar cried, \"Stay, where your own tense belongs.\"
Poetry answered by unresolving its songs.
Leaning, unfolding, changing its key.
Is this a wooden doorway—or only the tree?
When all the walls had forgotten their place,
Time lost its verbs, but remembered your face.
Lingering, wandering, never quite through,
Perhaps every participle, was writing to us too.
Walking beyond where the full stops had gone,
Having been written, the sunrise came on.
Turning the corner, up the down-hill;
Dangling forever, tomorrow stood still.
Undoing tomorrow before it was through,
Having been broken, the old became new.
The ashes rehearsed becoming seed—
Grammar looked back... and entropy agreed.