The lights flickering up and down the dim avenue,
every flicker reflecting off the puddles on the ground.
For a moment these are the only movements in view,
until a car under the veil of night comes round.

The car that comes to a stop is an old rugged Polara Pursuit,
the door swings and lets out an old gentleman in a black-as-tar suit.
His dormant hands from his pockets to pull a cigar and a light,
he takes a look around before taking the cigar to his lips and ignite.

Nicotine hits and the tar burns through his mouth and down his neck,
smoke fills the air as he waits hoping he wasn’t given a rain check.
Embers burn off of the cigar fading back to the stars,
quiet filled with the distant echoes of passing cars.

The boat trembles and shakes
frightened of the ongoing storm.
Darkness swallows and takes
the boat’s lifeless form.

Lightning illuminates the scene
to see running and commotion.
Waves cresting out of the ocean
biding its time to careen.

Uncertain this battle wages,
all day and all night.
We pity and discredit the sages,
who had this in their foresight.

As weather comes and goes,
as the Atlantic ebbs and flows.
Even though it can be dreary and storm,
does not mean a path will not form.

There is a place
not here or there
but somewhere.

Infinite fractals,
shattering in time.
Reflections,
in broken glass.

To blades of grass,
to grains of sand.
A finite countless,
infinity.

Out of the sidewalk gap blooms
a flower
Roots sunk deeply in the ground
to cower
Sky lit bright, no storms loom
to shower
No one knows how the flower found
its power

Gently walks the solemn mourners
spent we few, who abscond the coroner.

Why the long faces, the hurt and scowl
we belong in places, not overt and prowl.

Night comes and takes the morning away.

Can we talk and walk those corners,
gently in dew, through fronds and flowers.

We belong in the races, covered in dirt and no tossed towels
why not be strong, even in the faces of hurt and scowl.

As the light drums and wakes, aborning today.

On the beach
where i stand
toes buried
deep in the sand

to each
their own
was worried
but no more.

Just a moment wavering in the air,
holding on before it unfurls.

Gently letting go with care,
as it whirls away in those blue ivory curls.

A hug, a caress, a touch...
of a second which seems so faint.

Yet to not have enough,
to uncouple the real and the feint.

All that is left here is echoes.
All that is left here is echoes.