As time began to sail across the distance
between the legitimacy of sea-faring tales
and their land-woven origins,
our fingertips became acquinted in the same fluid lucidity
that the soles under our feet interpreted into syncopated steps

Our words melliflously met above the undertones of
cityscape circuit-boards,
embellishing the space between the notes
of our independence
and the harmonies
of our togetherness


She is neither the sea nor the wind, for both are masters of their own trade;
indifferent to the collisions of an unmapped expedition

She is,
as is freedom,
the sail under which the destinations of her vessel
rely solely on the unpredictability
of the collision itself

"Too many fall from
           great and good
       For you to doubt
           the likelihood."
                  -(fro) Robert
                   Frost's (poem)
          "Provide, Provide."



Too many have come
         and gone--
  Too many sought and
         thought--
For you to have lost or                    
        won;

  Too many climb up
        their dreams in
           light,
If only too fast they are
        washed ashore--
  Or left out to be
       'acquinted with the
           night,'
With no second chance,
           beaten to the core;
  And too many have put
           their heart with
               trust
In brute, brute another's
            heart,
  In the end with no love
            but driven to
               dust;
For too many fail to give
              another
  Try, too eager to treat
              with hate
The very lover with
        whom they felt
            together--
  Hence with no heart,
         and for nothing in
            hope to wait.

                       -by
            Hakim H. Kassim
             (d.Oct.12.2022)