Ducks. Moons. Eternity. Tamed memory.
Little things I keep alive in my mind.
Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. It’s still hard to find anything that will ever replace.
Eclipse. Moonshine. Moonstone.
Pentagram, in a illustrated book.
Never, ever, even being.
Your words that saved me. And these little things I do. Again. Again,
Pain gone? That’s a comfort. For some.
I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile. Again. Again.
Desolation in the empty.
Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting. Dissipating.
Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain? The life that flows through us, it’s trying always to escape.
The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time.
Yours, to brief.
mine still lingering
I ask why
Two eggs, laid down by the corridors
Sure as mortal days escape by the west coast
Rolling boulders feel the way of the mocking birds
Roasting legs dripping starlight onto the verge
Up in my estimations, high sky crosses the absurd river of ice
Titanic served salmon on a bed of white rice
With such luscious little smiles, scales and forgiveness in the rails
It’s the day of the cowardly snails
Like white sheets in the wind
Sometimes they hold rain
Throw down lightning and hail
Then wispy little ones like scales on a fish
Sun comes in this sky
Changes it heat from day to day
Through the clouds
They eat her rays gladly
Wind chases them like a little child chases butterflies
Ground is changed by these clouds
Hit ground with rain and plants come through the pavement
Hit the ground with hot dry sun
Hit the ground with mist
A succulent kiss on the ground from the clouds
Sun burns, into the soil like fires making ash
Flesh tied onto bone white and dead
Nests, birds long gone now
Streets black and empty, to hot for motors now
Whispers of clouds like stepping shapes
Wispy ice scythe the sky
Baubles lit open by suns might
Elevated winds kindly dew
Shadows poured on lands heights
Eroded feelings grown ripe
Seasoned meals so huge