Writing a decent or at least readable poem is, for me, both done in an instant, and rarely ever finished. I like sharing my thought process, and I hope someone out in the ether enjoys seeing early formations and later iterations created slowly outside of any useful timeframe. Epochs undefined.
And I get out of practice.
But as to topic, all I can do for now is mirror the kind of visualizations which came to mind so many years ago, so many miles ago, when I was relatively young and full of spirit, and hope they foster new ones, as well. Let’s start with an easy metaphor.
seeking nothing more than a formless connection
a quiet ethereal [sort of give and take,]
they begin a slow tentative waltz
dancing to the strains of music playing on the distant side
of these old plaster walls…
The words in brackets are written as I hear them, but are too lazy, and I'll probably change that whole line.