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Feeling no more a movement
forward back lateral down
only no progress
but stillness
where the wind don't blow
none to hear even if speech could form
We will find us, maybe you, but not alone to stay.
 

Testy creatures may suspect all
who glide above, defacing the languor
til once allayed we can build such deserts as never before.
Every poet commits infection
self-willed and despising
presaging the rhetoric
only to then tease adore awake if there be another.
The fore-bemoaned lack of candor comes full circle
and up to date
another love forced for the captain
his coward's legacy bends like such weeds
in a sandy blown desert when one big rain
flows, eroding dry etched ripples with cool liquid sheets.
A faint eloquent comfort vexed
then nourished doubting beauty like nothing else could.
Flapping jaws hide the loftiest fears
making no sound but blubbering
yet even
still grace influences the decline of heaven.
The night is blunt and direct as always
dissuading only the ills but never the tombs
carved in the mountains below.