Wisdomgiver

A distance monumental, measured small: Two steps to cross the space between our seats. Yet if you didn’t feel this way at all, Those steps would measure multiple defeats. But otherwise: those pitfalls safely crossed, A yawning gap remains till we embrace. If passion’s fragile chance I then exhaust How could I mute the sting of such disgrace? Then finally, the longest chasm yet: The distance till a breath but barely stirs. If ever I should hesitate or fret, The ultimate rejection here occurs. Magellan may have sailed around the Earth. ‘Tis farther for this kiss… but thus, its worth.

The sky is clad in denim, a pale Desaturated shale-blue stitching of clouds, Brushing its bell-bottomed hem against the trees, A surly teen at the water's edge of leafless lines. I walk along this dock daily.  I always return. The transitionary sand between wasteland and wave, I tread my existence along the water, with the wind; The sea is ever behind, and before. I came from the sea; to the sea I return. The perpetual motion of slope is my map. Tumbling topaz grains in the strains of sweeping silence, Tracing turns past labors and lyrics and lines. The drifting current draws me onward, Ever forward into hindsight, Slows me with