Give me a break, will you, or a full stop
A period, a time of night, before a day.
A periodic thing hangs on the forehead
Like a sweat drop, for breeze in leaves
Among unsaid things at a tongue’s end.
But now the poem stops at stanza break
A wait at the tip of the tongue, a sword
In making, a thought with a semicolon.
Let it wear an iambic meter under belt,
Get up and go , wherever stanza takes.