A walk by the stream

I always listen to you shifting or
hypothesizing like an older storm,
that’s still pondering how it should
cross oceans or dock on northern lands.
Your plans shuffling as if the table
is full of uncharted maps and scribbles.
The irrational and logical playing
rock, papers, scissors; best of five
within your small apartment walls.
A hem and haw tugs on your body,
like small children pulling your arms;
leading you to an unreachable jar.
This is when theories can change,
forcing the truth to present itself
so you can move on.

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