Now I know
You’re flying high
Take my scars
Our feelings blow into the wind
Sometimes
I wish one day I could take your hand
Walk in the strange path that nobody sees it
I want to say
That you are always mine
As you’ve loved me
As you've loved me

On a day when I have my druthers,
as it is
commonly known, such druthers must be accounted for.

July 11, 2021 - word was sent that rain was in demand,
and nobody had any to spare,
except over there,
along the river Meuse,

I mused a minute, or more, on the similar
familiar feeling, as to why would I not believe,
I'd druther it rain in Pine Valley, Ca,
than on the drowning ancient vineyards in Lorraine.

If I had my druthers it would dry up a bit in Lorraine,
and the effort in the atmosphere that maketh rain,
that high or low twist in the winds,
pressure and osmosis and such,
this global ventilation system,
on the bubble we breathe in,
these should make it rain,
in the edge of the desert,
using Atlantic winds with Sahara dust,
agreeing globally with all the
seas and tides and winds and storms,
and the local dust devils dance,
adding to the distant
desert's given dust,
the bit of grip each drop needs,
to form, the signal
for your information, formed of molecules
that do, in fact, resemble Mickey Mouse.
- the Disney-if-ied mind app
tune to the druthers pulling, here, if I had m' druthers,
I'd druther it rained on my neighbors,
who are in desperate fear of flames…

so I can build a fire tonight and see Mars
through rainswept sky.

I stepped onto the wind
not knowing (well not certain)
of where it would take me

I was happy to walk on the wind
as the storm was becoming too predictable
a path

I stepped onto a breeze
(less predictable than the wind I find)
guessing where it would take me

My third step took me
at last
onto a faint resonance
of song
- it took me to the bridge

and I danced

An old enemy turned into clarity.
In the silence I hear my truth.
The winds carry my voice,
from lifetimes ago.
Eternal.
Ancient wisdom purifies my soul.
I now choose to listen.

Beyond the noice, I hear life.

Hustling winds,
through the silent streets.
A dying flower,
with a hope to live.
Thunderclouds,
in search of solace.
A blank paper,
awaits to be written on.
Somewhere amidst this chaos,
we met.
We met,
for the wind,
to break the silence,
for the flower,
preserved forever,
between the pages of our story,
for clouds,
to let it rain,
for paper,
decorated in smell of love.
We met,
like the limitless sky meets the land,
with memories sealed in clouds,
sailing across the silent blue ocean.
We met,
like the drifting river meets the sea,
mixing into each other,
making it one water altogether.
We met,
like the first drop of blissful rain meets the thirsty earth,
losing his existence,
to nurture her.
We met.

For some reason,
Things with no sense
Are the foundation
For everything else.

Standing on a raft,
Struggling through
waves and winds,
logic and reality.

You create your purpose,
a clear direction.
Maybe, this path,
can be the foundation.