intermittent sadness

intermittent sadness
overcomes me

like the soft soap suds from the washing trough,
clean and uninhibited,
but the detergent
sneaks through
nostrils
with a warning label:

'unfit for consumption'

intermittent sadness
overwhelms me
it is. and it is not.

little more can be said
in that space between
what is safe
and what is not.

intermittent it may be
but this sadness even frightens me.

this, that
something scattered
can be felt so deeply

while something untethered
can be made so devastatingly
tangible.

i ask again.
what is safe?
and what is not?

intermittent sadness follows at my heels now,
unattended,
lurking,
searching still,
between
the is
and the
is not.