There’s a lake, not far
      That reminds me of you.
Keeps me from letting
      Your memory get carried away.
A place to remember you
      In a more natural light,
Where I imagine walking with you,
      Sat beneath a tree,
Eating biscuits.

A single body of water
      linking me to you,
Where we were last connected,
      Like wildlife.
The openness surrounding it
      Depicting freedom,
once carelessly shared.
      Its width, and depth showing
What we'll never be.
      
My longing measured
      By how itchy the grass is.
The fresh air
      Making me think of your
Thin hair.

I rise, you fall. Vice Versa, or
one of the two— either way we
both land on our feet.

The music never dies, but
while you do, I live for what I know.

Darkness, ocean;
worlds apart, yet darkness
sleeps in everything,

and you are my favourite kind.
Deep down,
the ocean but a cloud,

its thickness intensifying your
stare, and, finally, you see clearer.

Creatures at the bottom doing more
good than harm.

Specks of light, sun and moon,
dashing about, as only tiny commits
can around one's head.

A love found in death, as well as
diffusion.

Impulse collapses(...)
Adapting, imperfection
scales a

wide set of stairs,

growing
thinner in some places.

The same, yet everything
changes.

Poetry, gone fishing, first
drop of bait,

calling on concepts
other attempts at speech
have already made.

Pink and greys
attacking grass and dirt,

collectively, retrieving
evening sustenance.

Rolling over; up and down
they jump.
Peck, peck bing ****.

Sunscape behind four,
thin palms.

I anticipate it's colour, an easy
kind of sadness.

Shades of red present
themselves upon shadowy clouds.

I relocate, half way round the lake,
where it's less obstructed.

Above a dozen pines.
Courage dies, and I don't know why.

Tales shared of the depraved,
I keep true,

dismaying my
own sore, lossless cries.

1.
Cold weather forcing
sweat.

Physically uncomfortable,
inspecting brand new streets,
forging my path.


                        2.
                        Draine­d beyond reason, of
                        all that is tender,

                        as I drink, and drink, while
                        her call remains on hold.

Have you ever
sensed the motion

of moving elsewhere,
to return home feeling
foreign;

was it humbling
to know you've found
a better place to rest,

or did it dawn on you
that you may have

forgotten where it was
you came from?

It took some
physical searching

before arriving here
tonight;

this old childhood
location.

(One of which
I'd thought vanished
years ago.)

Now I have grown,
and the ocean seems
to have done also.

Now, in a chair, I
ponder it's darkness,

positioned upon
shore,

at the  bottom of
a set of stairs,

left behind, for me
to find, this perfect
view of loneliness.