conception of contractual
occasions return me to circumstance.
like sand between my toes the day we swore
history perished, earth became our dance.
the day walking stopped, we started to soar.
nothing left behind as we execute
time. blanketing. seventeen months. you
cannot. sea. salt water. our treasure loot.
until thoughts sadly drifted, back to blue.
gum tree strolls, tropical garden spinning –
contact was never required to feel. truth.
and every season remained to be spring.
swearing it wasn’t just innocence, youth.
death’s shock stayed, longer than we had assumed.
walking on coals to rediscover touch.
departing fertile land for one small room.
disregard matters of spirit and such.
your eyes rise and set at every far shore.
completing notions of anything more.