"progress is forfeit,"
or so you would sing.
relying on the wind to bring
all these things to air.
my own home is worthless,
a falter to beset.
but i was dumb and restless, yes:
a pious false prophet.
but now i awake and shake
in sheets i'll coat with sweat;
in every dream i recreate
the life that i have left.
all i offer to your sons and daughters:
"reach for nothing;
take what you create."
all i offer is laid out on the altar
terra, you were tearing up pictures and casting them to the wind.
as the waves wrote their scripture on the land,
and
the flames burned all their plans
to dance
along the shore.
we happened upon happenstance.
with you screaming at the sea,
i couldn't hear a thing.
but come raise your voice to me;
scream like you know my middle name--
my ears are an offering.
aria, are you just tired now?
speaking about how loud
your song would sound if the air would allow.
if the weather permits, you can always change it
for a change of pace.
some distance away,
you proved i've needed
some distance away.
carry on.
