Unning the Uns

too
late, too long
ago for the
unsaid, the
undone

trapped in the chokeholds
of regret
solidified in memory,
the unsaid repeats
what couldn't be voiced,
the undone enacts
what never was

as if one could
resuscitate
unwordings, or
ressurect

unbeing.

~~ Annie Wyndham

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* Photo of "Francis", a woodcarving from Vermont, sentinel of the house; he sits at the window, eyes whatever world I happen to be living in at the time, watches till I return, a familiar face in the window, always there, always waiting, keeper of my memories, a mere piece of wood, but named, and an infinite friend.