Above the welkin,
many luminous orbs coruscate with perseveration.
These disorganized celestial bodies emulate one another
but their uneven rhythm is apparent to starry eyed observers.
Eyes gazing
fascinated by the unmeasurable exquisiteness that exists
just beyond outstretched hands.
As one beholder marveled
the other closed disconsolate eyes
and gravitated towards the tangible.
It was in that moment
that the steadfast watcher found
what it was that they had been seeking.
A falling star dropped just low enough
that with desperate leaping and grasping
it was within reach.
The burning had not been accounted for.
Nor had the sudden departure
from the satellite that orbited just a little to close
and had only the desire to emulate others
with uneven rhythm.

The shattered concrete sidewalk spits shards of itself to the side with each crunching step. A stagnant yellow light suppressed by oppugning umbra strives with zeal to illuminate this phantasmal ambiance. The cadence of footfall hesitates at the corner of a decaying building. Eyes locked on a crimson door fabricated by the hands of Bhairava. It was this remorseless portal that produced the walker of dreams. With her approach the obscuration of scenery increased until there was nothing but two beings converging beneath the steadfast but dim light. Without sound the first tear fell to the ground. It grasped towards the earth below, delayed as if opposed by gravity, but with weight enough to overcome. The rest followed, after observing to make sure the first hit its target. Clairvoyance had become a curse to the seer, as the plight of the dreamwalker was revealed without words uttered. Secrets poured out almost as quickly as the now rushing tears. These concrete slab secrets attached ropes to the empathetic sleeper's wrists and anchored him beside the dreamwalker. With each thought that passed the bindings tightened around his appendages. And then this intruder, void of but a few secrets, looked up at him with horror. She comprehended too well the anguish caused by this affliction. As she rose beside him an embrace was offered, to suppress the gravity of the situation. For the first time she spoke. Her whispered words reverberated with such intensity that only dust and thread existed where the bindings had pulled and gnawed at skin. "It will all be ok now". She had come seeking comfort, but left beyond that horrible door with only the comfort that his memories would be purged upon waking. He woke with a heavy heart tied to concrete blocks, contemplating whether or not to utter his sorrowful knowledge to the one that provided it to him unknowingly.

She is accompanied, by either mild disdain or comfortable curiosity, but always with magnetic eyes that do not spot the glints of time traversing through the shadows to pass her. Eyes glued to the screen, as two reflective sequins, shining opposite of the captivating screen that has momentarily captured her attention. Often squinting with head tilted slightly to the side, unable to give in to the crowd which fashionably wears the smirk of approval. Or with eyes drowning in the hatred of the Legion of Gerasenes, yet still yearning to not be cast aside. Tangible threads begin weaving the cloth of empathy, as each falling grain of sand counts another responsive brain wave reacting to the current. Unsure if these words filtered through the mechanisms of defense forced upon an individual after so many disappointing tributaries, or if rushing claret and voltaic storms of lucidity invited the passing guests. Unsure if you can overcome the luring request of the daughters of Achelous to settle the sandy shores of contentment, or, for just once, endure the salty trials with enough zeal to alter course and navigate to the unfathomable.

The impatient crowd hustles past this coffee shop window
each taking quickly paced steps until they disappear in the foggy haze,
the entire distance of my vision I continue to watch them go
until the gentleman before me picks up his coffee and pays.

I pick up a newspaper and slide the money to the cashier
moving to a seat in the corner so I am out of the way,
it has been thirty minutes since you should have been here
I smirk while considering what excuse you will create today.

The aroma of freshly brewed beans begins to overpower
as I have completed the first section of the daily news,
either my watch is broken or you are late by over an hour
A frown forms while I question what could have kept you.

The fog has now lifted, yet the ever-late pedestrians remain
I picture you among them, racing to a date you overslept,
appearing in the window, with a story you can hardly contain
explaining that if it were possible your promise would have been kept.

As I look up from my musings I realize you are in front of me
with a smile you ask “so this is where you have been?”,
then point to the the place where I am supposed to be
and it is I, not you, that seems to have gotten lost again.

Her brilliant ocular orbs persist beyond the occasional glance
averting my focus just after her curious stare brings a gentle smile,
beckoning for our distance in the room's expanse to diminish perchance
as her heartening gestures attempt to avert my stance from sessile.
The magnetic pull of this inspiring scenery tugs me from my position
each forced step resisted as I cross the floor towards this distraction,
every warm, reassuring nod has filled my arsenal's ammunition
and causes a craving to quell the disturbance that has forced my reaction.
As her fingers delicately caress her soft lips I swiftly turn away
she knows not the consequence that her simple mistakes would bring,
I gather all my strength to fight the magnetic force enticing me to stay
leaving this alluring siren with nothing but her song she sings.

Though drained of will I flee with a vivid memory of what will never be
a siren so pure should stay near the shore and never reach the depths of sea.

With a setting sun on the horizon
the cool ocean breeze becomes a barrage of icy particles.
two bodies shivering to create friction
as if these two bodies did not have enough friction between them.
the freezing water reaching its flowing fingers out to them
stretching like a panicked wife whose wedding ring slipped down the drain
but never truly able to join in their caress.

This cold caress that still produces no warmth.

Three words are sighed out of desperation
to end the noise of the endless splashing persistence
of the great crashing waves of the ocean
trying to find warmth where there is none.

The cards have been dealt.

The queen of pentacles is the first to approach.
She promises me riches beyond all imagination.
Her haughty demeanor does not appeal to me at all.
Even so, she has great worth, and so I cannot discard her.

The queen of wands comes quickly after.
She catches my eye with her provocative dances.
There is a fire in her eyes that pulls me in.
I will keep her, in case I forget the meaning of passion.

The queen of cups sits alone in the corner.
From her throne she gazes at me longingly.
I am unsure if I hold her, or if she holds me.
She will be the fall of me.

The queen of swords floats across the floor.
She is late because she has been lost in thought.
I often wonder why she is so cold.
Perhaps it is because of the three other queens in my hand.

These cards have become worn down by my hands.