there was nothing but
the sound of feet
like pat pat pat
pushing against wet sand,
the call across mountain tops,
the trail toppling with raisins and walnuts,
the swish of lungs beating, running
and the way water splashed grandiosely,
or the comforts of a car ride,
blasting radio whilst carving around green hills,
palms raised against the cool wind
and feeling like the flowers and weeds
are sighing in unison,
or the ceasing daylight accompanied with
a hot meal, hot stew and bowls of sticky rice
creamy mashed potatoes and a glass of good wine,
which twinkles whenever the candle is lit
at the rickety table,
a collection of something
chimes call, the belly laughter rolls
and a day of blues and blacks,
where tears run and skies sag in lack
these are all human memories
bittersweet and living indefinitely