the acid green numbersof the digital clock surge
flickering indefinitely against their black-board canvas
Symbols in a constant flow of rotation, here where our circadian rhythm dances, 
stepping forward gently into the grace of each hour
You taught me to move my feet,
I passively glide to her lead
as she guides my hand
tilts up my chin with the night of her finger tips
into the sea of the sky my moss marble eyes sink
clinging to the vast, black, uncertainty of it all
a weight off my shoulders,
now chained to my ankles
no better than a corpse, within the hold of gravity’s grasp
flooded airways
who had just met an unknowing last breath
which had escaped silently into the innocence of reflective bubbles.
And if still waters run deep,
is it wrong to tread them blindly? Shattered as the seashells scattered across the frantic ocean floor
is the state of the sanctuary
that I used to know as my mind.
Cement side walks still cracking in encounter with life’s forces
sentenced by it’s own inflexibility. 
But with the willows i’ll bend, 
swaying silently with the sureness of the traveling breeze

Where are you?

Are you here, hidden away behind
the blossoms? Are the petals kissing
you now? Are the vines sheltering
you from the world and every cruelty
in it? Are the branches giving way to
your loveliness, burdened by a light
heart, a heavy soul? Are the sun’s rays
adorning you, never giving your eyelids
blessed shadows? Will I find you,
amongst the willows?

No, I do not.

I see you sitting right here
next to me,
your cheek on my shoulder.

forgetting you? cannot do it with a sober mind. 
I'd rather fall into a drug induced coma than try to forget you with all my pieces intact, my mind intact, my heart in place. 
I want to feel forgetting as a cathartic emotion than a numbing aid. 
I don't want to feel you. I feel you through the nothingness and it is overwhelming. 
weeping willows weeping willows. weeping in the rain the wind carrying the weeping willows as they sing. my heart weeping for you. my willow you. 
drug induced coma; forgetting her ; without the nothingness..

Our love can not exist.
      Echo's final plight.
           Ero's arrow askew.

Come find me beyond the
clouds.
I'll wait among the whispering
veils,
      among the weeping
willows.
i wait for you at the breaking of
dawn.

I.   Warning

A boundary of warning issued premature
to a lad settled on adventure
will plant definition in a red
corruption code of ketchup on a
post-picnic bib orphaned to the wind
like a fictional friend's home continent's flag

The vision-fielding velocity of neighbours'
arrows augment the sleep-shearing flares
of the father's eyes in the centrifugal
bullseye of his boy's current-green nursery
so close to swelling wide as a planet
now a marble left behind in favour of
a shrunken moon's spheric promise
of an otherworldly adventure

II.   Island

Subservient to boundaries of none but its own
the loner of landmass nurses its nautical mischief
through the employment of sensual labour in darkness
sizing them up to encompass a knowing glow
for the enigmas of bare-faced daylight

The premature thirst for adventure
attended to by the drink of sanctuary
poured from the skew of its welcome-mat shore

III.   Neighbours

Game and Disappearance serve
the Monarchy of Volume under code names
of Hide and Seek undertaking missions in the name
of circumstantial viceroys: decibels
scanning search parties through the x-ray of silent night
for the orchestration of the morn

Tweeting birds equate an army horn
rainbowing the insurgent black sky
with adventures in crusade-recital grooming

An airy beach of reeds is looming
in the coastal fog bracing to embrace
the route taken on the faith of melodic compass

IV.   Discovery

No labourer of mortal being beats the sun
out of bed not even the little one
succumbed to slumber in the bony shadow
of the instrumentally inscrutable contestant
to the claim of composition by his
solar brother's sacred nursery rhyme
insuring the rest and energetic rise of time

This adventure-hearted child heard no battle cry
in what the rivals of his bearded babysitter
dubbed The Sound Of Panic
just the anthem of a little conqueror beneath
a bucky smile of approval on the heels
of a swim befitting of an older lad but not
the aura of exhaustion conquering
the eyes of a goal imagined and achieved
and the smiling gratitude duet in return
from the dutiful and loving neighbours
lulled to their reunion reed field
in anticipation of a father's target met
with a son's accuracy in tow

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