It's all a play, after all.
Five acts. Five fingers wrapped around
a mug of lukewarm coffee, steam
rising like breath in the cold.
Exposition, rising action, climax, falling action
denouement—
Words to hold the chaos at bay.
But chaos is a current, isn't it?
A riptide pulling you under, spitting you out
on some unfamiliar shore.
Freytag offers a hand, a map.
He understands the need for structure,
the comfort of a familiar pattern.
