When do we deny the misdirection
     That confuses every moment?
Never seeing clearly where we are
     Until that time is gone...

     By hidden musical light
     The skirted woman steps
     In sandals past old stones.

You fall under a strain
     That swells to climax
     Or ends in slow futility.

Now your earlier ways
     Are so easily seen through—
     You've formed layers.

The ordered presence of one mood
     Passes to the next.
The silver thread of self runs
     Deeper than the rest.

©2019 Michael Fraley

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