Like a half mast eye of exacerbation
or a cradle in the sky
the product of celestial meandering
has an after image lingering in the dark
playful and true its light skips leagues

As you watch, water laps against another storied shore
stuccoed terra-cotta rise crumbling from the dock
as if the earth itself shored itself up
its purpose far forgotten, relegated to nostalgia
a wafting of a lullaby forever haunts the alleys
its nexus, the river of the dead, promises absolution
where souls of silt meet the distant sea
that steadily yearns for that waning smile
they sink till the unbecoming
to wake when the waves grace them again

Ripples in a contrasting sky
borrowed from its red twin
the obelisk stood in black relief
a windmill motionless despite the
whirr of arthropod wings
suddenly a flop and a splash
Ghostly vessels under the paint
who sink, bringing together
disparate moments
the puzzle separated by decades
find each others' kin

Outside it thunders
rumbles warnings
occasionally drops fall like stars
across an unfocused gaze
the bank hisses, its language uncomprehensible
but ever rushing on to an uncared for destination
its so still outside as I sit there drinking my tea
green flecks against a slate blue
mimic the green of grass and the trees around me

An occasional pinprick has me flinching
wary of when the thunder will keep its promise
yet I finish my cup and it is a little red ant
that notifies me of my unwelcome
the thunder still rumbles on outside
uncertain now maybe, stuttering
I ruminate on a pinpoint
one I’ve been circling for months it feels
my realizations bitter on my tongue
on second thought maybe that’s the tea