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." (1938).

Too many have
      come  and gone--
  Too many sought
      and thought--
For you to have lost
     or won;
  Too many want to
     get to their dreams
         in steps 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 love with
        trust
In brute, brute
    another's heart,
  In the end with no
    love but driven to
       dust;
Why, too many fail to
    give another
  Try, impatient 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. June 06, 2023)