A half-done cut

The saw bit ragged through the wood,

spitting splinters like broken promises.

I stopped midway, breath caught,

blade stuck, the cut raw and uneven.

Half a shelf lay on the garage floor,

splinters splayed like fractured hopes,

a task left unfinished,

weight hanging heavier than the dust.

Hands hesitated, muscles slackened,

a quiet surrender to the slow decay

of things left only half undone,

waiting where the saw waits,

in the silence of the day.