Just the Right Amount of Incomplete

To the window left ajar

There’s a window beside me

not flung open,

not shut

just the right amount of ajar

to let in the hush of twilight,

to let the breeze make a decision.

As if in surrender…


My box of paints sits nearby,

unrushed,

with lids unscrewed just enough

to whisper color into the dusk

but not demand a canvas.

Not yet.


There’s a sky outside

half inked,

half promise.

The kind that doesn’t beg to be captured

but waits for someone to notice

that it’s already art.


And I,

I’ve left everything

just the right amount of unfinished:

a brush with a little green still on it,

a line of a poem that almost rhymes,

a dream that turns over in its sleep

but doesn’t wake.


Maybe you’ll come along,

and pick up the red,

or finish the sentence,

or simply sit beside this window with me..


where the world,

in this moment,

is just the right amount of open.