jungle gym
These days, nights
flights
into another world
we cling to our truth
though sporadic,
nomadic,
compass points directing
north, south, in my
mouth the earth
she breathes/seethes
this hatred wasted,
fear tasted and
forgotten
tapping (tap/tap/tap)
at the edge of recollection:
affection released by
the hands
of time (sands
in our hourglass) -
failing,
and at last
from the past...we are
re-
cast.