Crimson clouds hang low.
The day’s embers glow softly,
burning down to dusk.
Waves, softly lapping
Dappled light wanders.
Across the lush, verdant grass
The night air’s cold hand
reaches down and pulls my breath
in shards from my chest.
The past is a guide;
A companion who leads you
Into the future
I go to freeze on dark tides
I wake before three.
for another’s riches
Drops of falling rain,
Waiting, outstretched tongue.
Desperately seeking my
Pele watches as Pregnant clouds spill down over The caldera’s rim
Lightning bugs at dusk Their glow, a beacon for those Seeking simpler times
I took for granted Always waking up next to Your side of the bed
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