Stumbling
over me
I am not ready
for distribution

I am
An unfinished metaphor
of the heart
lines that trace wisdom through time

I become your broken kōan
your uncertain allegory

Paraphrase me over the years
unable to make sense of my stories

Let me be your tangled prose
your tortured parables

I am
unready
but that does not matter

So out I go
into the night

unready
unfinished
yours