is anything finished

is there anything done.

or is all unfinished.

this poem
i'm about to write I may never
read or attend
to again.

will the house ever be
just right,

the yard. the colors
of the sun
as it sets
beyond the silver sage
of trees
bending to wind?

is anything ever finished.
complete?

old loves.
do they end with a bang
or is it a whimper.

a gentle mist fading
like
oils
on a painting to the weathers
unconscious
taking.

can we go back again?
start over.

first words. a first kiss.

a first thump
of heart felt in some
strange
throw
of love.

can we erase the past and begin?

is there anything truly finished
or done?

is there truly an end?