by A.C.S. (A.C.S., the author of these poems, asked to remain semi-anonymous.) I. You say you’re hanging by a thread and if this thread breaks, you fall into – what? - - for how long will I fall into - - but this thread, like Eden, was not meant for you – your Eve is too cunning for the webs of false prophets. So look, I tell you, to the seas above which you hang they ebb and flow - rage and calm – the molecules tear away in ethereal vapour only to gather again and fall in their longing for home. expand and retreat breathe in, breathe out be a drop of water cut your skybound tethers and fall. II. There is no love that would say 'Here am I. Choose me, plant me, know me' But there is only the ever-doubting love - eluding capture, grown with a crown of thorns, bloodied and embattled, always asking, “Is it I for whom you search?” III. We idly fondle the future with poorly chosen words and half-assed sentence structure hidden between laughs of mistake and second thought. L’esprit de l’escalier reminds us to take charge of our present minds while the stretching teaches us to take charge of our present bodies in all their pains. Silence delivers a smile of memory lost and found again kept just long enough to demand recognition. A.C.S., the author of these poems, asked to remain semi-anonymous.