...

Time is fluid, you have it and you don't
But then what is not, who'll have it, who wont?

Daft earth, patient sun, parched land and me
Dust bowl, smoke filled, my eyes as I see

I ask, she questions and desires
Seeking answers, choosing not to hate, them liars

A smile, half baked and fragile
And a smell thereabout and as I run my last mile

She asks me to display, I don't answer and surmise
She is herself but then I think otherwise

Patient earth, parched sun, land and daft me
It could have been easily so. You see.

freewheeling...

to all that wasn't done
and recalled
at the expense of expectations
to all that will never be
and last
and propagate you
to interpretation and it's aching demands
which surmise
and lead astray
to a smug smile taking for granted
and beguiling
and outsmarting
to her gait that declares
her poise
and the missing too
and so when i ode
i ode to that suffices
to hide and announce
what is and what will ever be...