the blue is reaching
from shore to sky and across each line,
under air,
floating lips might pass agreeable
dreams.
the next catch is just under
flying flags and plastic carpets painted in
photos meant for real feelings.
i remember what you spoke of
before i saw the picture.
history is still moving through the
beauty circus, for alternatives
plead for breakable fortune and inventive
relationships.
in this minute, the memory is lasting
and for the gift of yesterday's meditation
i recall what is good and kind,
with this language and your photo,
a path between mind & eye,
carving the next wonderous
thought.
from below,
the sounding dust moves on
and with what i've got,
silky feet walk on
hair drawing in mud and the
wind behind your voice,
return me to touch.
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