Home

This name does not belong

to me-

This body will do

For mobility of the restless soul

Escape from all

This

killing ourselves

Sweet poisons of security

in a sense

Never enough

To fill the seams

To fit to the letter

To tie loose ends

Try to forget

Let go

without remembering

What it was

The name of something

That kept us.

Painting by 'Winslow Homer, 'The Green Hill' c. 1878, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

Kind of reminscent

It was the kind of morning

where the ocean on the

Other side of the range

Dances and mingles with the early air

making fog

as it thins in the strong sunlight

beckoning a body

of water...

It was the kind of day

the slanted afternoon sun

labored its rays through

branches burning the dirt of 

crushed leaves and mulch bark

making ones insides rumble

with a hunger

for Freedom...

It was the kind of evening

the sky tasted like rainbow sherbert,

a warm breeze from below 

that evokes the surge of a 

swing-set wind 

and smells of spent fuel,

a subdued din and

time slows 

in fading light

into the kind of night

Shadows don't bother hiding

leaving a chill as they pass 

and reeking of second chances

like other 

Times approaching.

Painting by Firs Sergeyevich Zhuravlev (1836-1901) Bojar Woman via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain.