I previously posted a one line poem that I wrote about a year ago. I'd actually written the first line SO many times and tried to write more. Months or a year and many scribbles later, the one line didn't evolve. I accepted that the poem was meant to be short and sweet.
The piece that I speak of is one of my favorites. It kind of echoes and fades into the air not actually ending at the last written word. I love the softness and open possibility of the story.
And then something interesting happened- I opened up Facebook Stories prepared to write a short poem and like many times before, I started with that echoing sound. Without pressured thought, there it was... it had been waiting years to come out.
At first, I was startled by the use of what I had now considered complete. No!!! I like it the way it is; it's perfect, I thought. Until I looked at the finished product.
Rather than consider this a revised piece I've decided that the one liner is still a poem of its own; there's now two different works that have that lingering echoed butterfly of combined words.
Here's the original:
And, here's the new work:
