The Poet Breaks
By Shaine Melrose
If life is a poem
when will my stanza end?
I have to break the line
what follows is new.
If I am whole, cut from concrete.
Lapis lazuli sky embraces sunny yellow
paints the grass green, an easel of words flow
on a turpentine breeze.
If I crack, adrift in the beauty of abstract
words once loved suddenly despised.
I am jammed against an embankment
marking time, for resolution, the volte
to imitate, for the line break.