Agendas veiled
or otherwise 
rarely tickle
tease or
taunt but 
rather percolate
and blurp 
blurp blurp
up through 
the muck
looking to 
escape like 
some prisoner 
peeping for 
holes in 
a fence 

I cottage cute
quaint and unassuming 
sit quietly on
a salty shore 
or tucked away 
on some lane
deep in wood
brick and stone 
or maybe clapboard 
years upon years 
as ivy creeps 
like time itself 
until it covers 
turning a once 
refuge or escape 
into just another 
part of the
wild green forest 

I am but 
a mitt full 
of sand yours
when you hold 
it but not 
for very long 
for I belong 
to the beach
and the water 
and the wind 
keep me now 
knowing that later 
I will go 
like the snow 

And just like that 
and with little warning 
the Universe shifted from 
singularity to this polarity 
from absence to existence 
from ghost to reality 
a curtain a current 
maybe even a breeze 
and bringing with it 
a moisture that these
plains have rarely seen 
and from the barren
might now even sprout 
a spring of springs 

After all 
and then 
now that 
this has 
taken root
the that
that once
had been 
seems alien 
like what 
was I
ever thinking 
that that
that was 
my path
to happiness