Do we begin with the past, present, or future?
Do we lovingly resist these urges?
I scurry arround building infrastructure to breathe.
I float on light steps enveloped by your voice’s ease.
And in silence, I find comfort in my own song.
Do we keep the most important things to ourselves?
I did only what I could: I waited for your word, I rested, and I rode.
May these new floods return us to lost comforts.
I feel a need to start over.
Even the moon gets lost, sleep sounds gentle.
There are different conceptions of honesty.
The earthsounds and earthquiet.
Names change each time they’re said.
The moon is bright now, mostly.
Like a stranger’s kindness from a balcony above.