The world cracks and turns here, and we sway and we rock. The moss grows up and over the steps, they hide secrets in between the places the sunshine disappears.
There's a rhythm, there's a beat.
There's the march of the measured steps.
The pulls and pushes of that ignorant moon.
The cadences that only the past knows.
Lord, only God knows.
And we rock the boats and they lilt from side to side
They jostle and roll
A languished chest. Pounding. A giddy desire.
A slow and dredging, heart. beat.
And breathe.
And we throw our heads into the vulnerable breeze.
Into the spirit of things.
The stone, and the statues,
The bridges and the pillars.
The balconies, the spindly roots,
The swell of wine and the seasons that all feel alive.
No comments:
Post a Comment