the power house rears its head again,

pouring images down

like rain.

while gavin bryars plays

on and on

repeated.

look at each gentle place,
to keep in a pocket
of love,for that rainy
day, you do not go.

maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.          count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us

onward.

the voices rather quiet. we have had a life time
of listening, yet not understanding really.

so let us go forward and compare

an old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing

relaxing.

the hunted tried not to sleep

there

:: tides are higher now, flooding the paths. he walked the mud, bringing the footsteps back to us ::

flashing

nought nought

a sure sign that something
has occured

i will know more when i investigate