I’d walk for miles to change the tide

Sinuously the solitary woman's rhythm falls, a season opener, a whisper arrives.

“I can sit here on the porch stoop and watch the sea unwrapping, and watch our bloom.”
“Do you have the time? Can you take the time? Can you make the time?”

Here we sit, we are three one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange, we lie in the unbroken half embrace. And who is the whisper that shall command our heart?

To bear the true witness of the heart within, to boundless ones in moments of doubt. Break with muttered wondering fixed into a rapture, her more dear innermost consciousness and wakefulness say to have patience with these black lines. For it is foolish, to have no remorse with matters of the heart. Blinding the pain, through the names of need and silence. But the someday seems didn’t come. There were two countless words for the score and I hear the roar of silence over uniting.

The current events of love and hell, the reeds of the end, the spells of sway and sough. Of the illness, all the work to access from our pinched and tiny minds just the idea of hope, like colossal fatigue, the repetition of lifting, it weighted down but remained above.

All over everything the sun rises funny, dawn burnished the wave, smoothed free of everything, but the slowest curve barely less than earth’s, hump unloads a surf-less silence.

And I stopped in its fragile harmony, my arms, bare feet, the folds of my limp gown striped by such weightless symmetry. I might have been myself again.

What we wanted from the beginning, we stopped searching for answers.
Is it a matter of living everything?
Live now, and perhaps, you will gradually, without forcing and noticing it, one distant day live right into the answers.

We can see — clear bright yet shimmering — stillness as.