Dated Today Again

Eight months, the same half-finished file.

I changed the date again this morning—

today's replacing last month's. The trial

of the second paragraph: the boring

truth of the same break, same

place, since March. I added one line.

Watched the cursor blink at the frame

of the gap. Twenty minutes. Fine—

I know what the sentence is trying

to say. That's the problem.

I closed the window. Not crying.

The date current at the top. The bottom

of the second paragraph.

The sentence where I stop.