Nothing is complete

Nothing is complete

There is always something

Waiting to be broken

What will become

Of the pieces

Do they disperse

Nobody knows

An outcome

Before the closing

When it is far too late

The moment is past

Never delayed

By the rudiments

Of life

Impediments to progress

Are necessary

To preserve the integrity

Of process

The journey

Always more important

Than the conclusion

Time is tidal

It flows this way

And that

Never quite

In the right direction

For long enough

To synchronise

Internal clocks

To the beating heart

Which slowly

Disassembles

As old valves close

And stitches come undone

Everything that once

Was whole

Will be broken

Disrepair is

A natural state

More akin to becoming

Than completion.