Short poetry, not haiku
Edited, sliced, trimmed, deleted
To make a point, catch a mood
A mood incomplete
Arrested, frozen
Stanzas on the cutting room floor
What remains, what remains is a word clump
But what words didn’t make it
What are the trees and houses outside the frame
Never will we know
Instead, we have the unfinished symphony
The short poem, what lacks is
ericjkregel 