Tobacco-stained dreams remain. Tanned like leather, finger joints gnarled.  The sun glints through a crack in the door.  This is a sign of brighter times.  Turquoise blues holds the memory.  

Tainted by gunfire, the repetition of the rounds hitting the ground.  Tactile senses return, feeling the grip against the palm, fingers around the guard.  

Tension becomes the norm.  Tomorrow is hope, every evening brings the tears.  Trees sway as I walk, seeking serenity in the green leaves.

Outside dark clouds form;
inside the storm rages on.

Like a snail the journey is slow.
Two sticks maintain the balance.
Walking on water, floating clouds.

This moment takes me as I regress, seconds tick, slashing rain, eyes green.  Gone like all those yesterdays, physically altered, a puzzle rearranged.  

Alone in the swirl, seeking my center, over my shoulder the world spins on.  Tomorrow where the future lies, my hands washed of pain and regret, a place to seek and forget.  

Green eyes revise.  Another anachronistic statistic rising on a graph, computing the numbers, refusing to stumble, aiming to wander.

Outside I notice
elderberry blue,
inside of a name.

Pebble skims
across a lake:
mine's a boat.

Something drew me to this leatherbound notebook, tattered and torn.  Inside the pages are filled with doodles and colorful phrases. Inspiration comes quick, I grab a pen and begin to underline.