The warrior walks
Dawn's first light in the forest
A babbling stream

The birds are chirping
He wades through the tide of mist
Around his ankles

The stream is ahead
Dropping his weapon he falls
The battle was won

He saved his village
But suffered a grievous wound
He reaches forward

The ice cold water
Brings wet fingers to his lips
A slight refreshment

Savoring the taste
A bed of wild flowers
A perfect cushion

Weapon behind him
He thinks about his breathing
With grass on his face

Remembers, exhale
His wife and child, inhale
Beautiful, exhale

Remembers, inhale
The days long battle, exhale
His people saved, still

Remembers, inhale
Vibrant colors of spring, still
His daughter's face, still

Remembers, exhale
Cold water on his lips, still
Birds are chirping, still

Wild flowers, still
Rays of dawn pierce the trees, still
A babbling stream

Rigid, impasto clouds
Stick out of the sky
Like Van Gogh
Put them there himself
Sky peaking between
Buildings and towers
Pushed and pulled
Twisted and ripped apart
Like fabric tearing slowly
Moved by the breeze
Invisible currents slicing
A silent cacophony of air
I reach up and feel
Solid, dried paint crackles
Under my finger tips
I pull my hand away
Digits stained white and blue and gray

Shifting streets and their buildings
Pulsing and moving and shaking
Jagged and prickly corners
Edges of windows glint
Like drops of blood
On the edge of a sword
Walls and sidewalks
Rough like a giant cat's tongue
The skyscrapers carve the landscape
Into a distorted forest
An amalgamation of today
And yesterday and the day before that
I reach forward and feel
I pull back in shock
Fingers pricked and knees scraped