“_underscore_”

the line does not end

it waits — a low bar,

a held breath _ not yet

beneath the sentence

the underscore drags its quiet spine,

pulling the eye forward,

asking the voice to stumble.

not in capitals,

but in undersong —

the half‑said,

the word leaning into tomorrow.

today’s poems fracture,

splinter on enjambment;

but the underscore is subtler,

a stitch that binds absence

to the next insistence.

reader, step across it:

feel the drag of thought

beneath your own tongue —

know the poem is not finished _

only underscored.

.