Bullet trains and charging birds
Running yields to riding
Horses yield to carts
Pushed carts stop for carriages
Drawn by bulky steeds
That whimper as the puttering engine speeds

The steamer yields to the auto
The auto yields to the train
Which become bullets flying on rails
Which fly cargo on metal sails
All the years flying and running and charging into one intersection of  chaos
The noise and screeches turning
As I spin lost in the traffic
But
The runners the charging horses the spinning wheels the churning cogs the burning oil the screaming steam the ricketing rails the roaring jets
Stop

For a kiss

Prickly morning sun strings up
      the hair on her arms as she gazes,
watching the waves bobble and weave and listening
to their dead seashells and shellfish;
       ricketing and momentarily floating.

For a moment, her heart is the ocean.
  Always beating and providing life without
knowing why. She sighs and begins to forget she is lost--
The synthetic shores of everyday life at her backfoot,
   the burning sand ridden with childhood memories.
She slowly allows it to dissapear
and recaptures a piece of her self
                                                            ­  in return;

Belonging to this ocean as much she does the sky it reflects.

Calling, lamenting her name without a word, the ocean
     lullabies her soothing sighs, falling rythmatically now--
Raindrops disinter the clouds and tickle the rythm
     of her pulse. Soft, soft backing instrument to her final
            calling. There is no need to look around again;
  
There is no guard in sight. The prickly sunshine fades
  To ruthless cold air and she walks forward, mouth agape
        and ready

For the ocean to swallow her and recapture her, entombed,
     enwombed forever more.

The seductive ghost at the wheel of my fire bursting finger tips still an  old silvery soul ricketing the shutters delicatly.  your lauph bursting across our living room like tiny bubbles, little birds flapping their pink feet above  magnolias.  What a whisp of beauty it is to still know how much we care for eachother.