An Angle

There is a caution leaving 

a water mark

along the edge of my thoughts 

and reality. 

Angles. 

They manage us

as we face forward,

unmoving. Perpendicular

vision beams. Step aside,

a glide this way

to return the weave,

the passing through

and over, repeating

what there is

to accomplish. 

I made a jacket the way

I want it to be. 

It fits.

M. Flannery

December 2026

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