I do
I remember 
recall and 
now realize 
that one 
single moment 
can stretch 
like bubblegum 
and pops 
just like 
it too 

A jazzy rainy
slow mountain morning 
when the whiskers
of snares meet
the snarls of
traffic and I
up here in
the crow’s nest 
that’s my window 
peer down soaking 
in soulful blues
and woeful rain 
oh these quiet 
and placid days 

This is what 
I imagine a
man feels who
has returned from 
the silent war
a quiet erosion 
caused by lapping 
not by sea
but by going 
round and round 
and round the 
same old track
waiting to find 
the finish line 

Some I don’t 
most I won’t 
there’s always a 
few and then 
there is one 
be it slacks 
sweater or beau
always a favorite 
never too worn 
out or frayed
fragile or faded 
it’s the familiar 
that only one 
reached for first 
in fear that 
there will never 
be found another 

And from afar
a wave that 
once was close 
coupled by kiss
is now an 
afterthought amidst the 
rolling waves of 
bodies moving you
faster and farther 
out to sea
onto the train
of your dreams 
and its destination